
Book_ .\\'55 , 

1810 



LECTURES , 

ON 

lORAL PHILOSOPHY, 

AND 



ELOQUENCE. 




?51^ 



^ ' BY THE 

Rev. JOHX WITHERSPOON, D. D. L. L. D. 

Late President of the College at Princeton^ 
NEW-JERSET. 



PUBLISHED 
BY THE AMERICAN EDITOR 

rOR THE BENEFIT OF 

SCHOOLS AND ACADEMIES. 



WOODWARD'S THIRD EDITION. 



1 



PHILADELPHIA; 

PRINTED BY AND FOR WILLIAM W.' WOODWARD, 
No. 52, South Second Street. 

1810.: 



!t /O 



By Tra-itafcr 



IN JUSTICE to the memory of Dr* Witherspoon^ 
it ought to be stated that he did not intend these lectures 
for the press^ and that he once compelled a printer^ who 
xvithout his knowledge^ had undertaken to publish the 
to desist from the design^ by threatening a prosecution 
as the consequence of persisting in it. The Doctor^ s 
lectures on morals^ notxvithstanding they assume the 
form of regidar discourses^ xvere in fact^ viexved by 
himself as little more than a syllabus or compend^ on 
xihi.h he might enlarge before a class at the tijues of 
recitation; and not intending that they should go fur- 
ther^ or be otherxuise considered^ he took freely and 
xvithout acknoxjuledgment from xvriters of character such 
ideas^ and perhaps expressions^ as he found suited to 
his purpose. But though these causes xvould not per- 
7nit the Dr. himself to give to the public these sketches 
of moral philosophy^ it is believed that they ought not 
to operate so poxverfully on those into zuhose hands his 
papers have fallen since his death. Many of his pu- 
pils xvhose eminence in literature and distinction in 
society give xveight to their opinions^ have thought that 
these lectures^ xvith all their imperfect ions ^ contain one 
of the best and most perspicuous exhibitions of the ra- 
dical principles of the science on which they treat that has 
ever been made ; and they have very importunately de- 
manded their publication in an edition of his xvorks : 
Nor is it conceived that a compliance with this demand^ 
after the explanation here given^ can do any injury to 
the Dr^s. reputation. And to the writer of this note it 
does not seem a sujficient reason that a very valuable 
work should be consigned to oblivion^ because it is in 
some measure incomplete^ or because it is partly a selec- 
tion from authors to xvhoni a distinct reference cannot 
novj be made. 



LECTURES ON 



servation, which will greatly add to their beauty 
and force. 

The noble and eminent improvements in natural 
philosophy, which have been made since the end 
of the last century, have been far from hurting 
the interest of religion; on the contraiy, they 
have greatly promoted it. Why should it not be 
the same with moral philosophy, which is indeed 
nothing else but the knowledge of human nature ? 
It is true, that infidels do commonly proceed upon 
pretended principles of reason. But as it is im- 
possible to hinder them from reasoning on this 
subject, the best way is to meet them upon their 
own ground, and to show from reason itself, the 
fallacy of their principles. I do not know any 
thing that serves more for the support of religion 
than to see, from the different and opposite systems 
of philosophers, that there is nothing certain in 
their schemes, but what is coincident with the 
^.vord of God. 

Some there are, and perhaps more in the pre- 
sent than any former age^ who deny the law of 
nature,^ and say, that all such sentiments as have 
been usually ascribed to the law of nature are 
from revelation and ti^adition. 

We must distinguish here between the light of 
nature and the law of nature : by the first is to be 
understood what we can or do discover by our 
own powers, without revelation or tradition : by 
the second, that which, when discovered, can be 
made appear to be agreeable to reason and nature. 

There have been some very shrewd and able 
writers of late, viz. Dr. Willson, of New Castle, 
and Mr. Riccalton, of Scotland, who have written 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 7 

against the light of nature, shewing that the first 
principles of knowledge are taken from inforaaa- 
tion. That nothing can be supposed more rude 
and ignomnt, than man without instruction. That 
when men have been brought up so, they have 
scarcely been superior to brutes. It is very diffi- 
cult to be precise upon this subject, and to distin* 
guish the discoveries of reason from the exercise 
of it. Yet I think, admitting all, or the greatest 
part, of what such contend for, ^ve may, iiot- 
:sv ithstanding, consider how far any thing is con-^ 
sonant to rea.son, or may be proven by reason ; 
though perhaps reason, if left to itself, would 
never have discovered it. 

Dr. Clark was one of the greatest cham.pions for 
the Ia,w of nature ; but it is only since his time 
that the shrewd opposers of it have appeared. The 
Hutchinsomans(so called from Hutchinson of En- 
gland) insist that not only all moral, but also all 
natural knowledge comes from revelation, the 
true system of the world, true chronology, ail 
human arts, &c. In this, as is usual with most 
other classes of men, they carry their nostrum to 
extravagance. I am of opinion, that the whole 
Scripture is perfectly agreeable to sound philoso- 
phy ; yet certainly it was never intended to teach 
us every thing. The political law of the Jews 
contains many noble principles of equity, and ex- 
cellent examples to future lawgivers ; yet it was 
so local and peculiar, that certainly it was never 
intended to be immutable and universal. 

It would be more just and useful to say that all 
simple and original discoveries have been the pro- 
duction of Providence, and not the invention of 



8 LECTURES ON 

man. On the whole, it seems reasonable to make 
moral philosophy, in the sense above explained, 
a subject of study. And indeed let men think what 
they will of it, they ought to acquaint themselves 
with it. They must know what it is, if they mean 
even to show that it is false. 

The Division of the Subject. 

Moral philosophy is divided into two great 
branches, Ethics and Politics, to this some add 
Jurisprudence, though this may be considered as 
a part of politics. 

Ethics relate to personal duties. Politics to the 
constitution, government, emd rights of societies^ 
and Jurisprudence to the administration of justice 
in constituted states. 

It seems a point agreed upon, that the princi- 
ples of duty and obligPttion must be drawn from 
the nature of man. That is to say, if we can dis- 
cover how his Maker formed him, or for what he 
intended liim, that certainly is what he ought to 
be. 

The knov/ledge of human nature, however, is 
either perplexed and difficult of itself, or hath been 
made so, by the manner in which writers in all 
ages have treated it. Perhaps this circumstance 
itself, is a strong presumption of the truth of the 
Scripture doctrine of the depravity and corruption 
of our nature. Supposing this depravity, it must 
be one great cause of difficulty and confusion in 
giving an account of hum.an nature as the work of 
God.' 

This I take to be indeed the case with the greats 
est part of our moral and theological knowledge. 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 



Those who deny this depravity, will be apt to 
plead for every thing, or for many things as dic- 
tates of nature, which are in reality propensities of 
nature in its present state^ but at the same time 
the fruit and evidence of its departure from its 
original purity. It is by the remaining power of 
natural conscience that we must endeavour to de-^ 
tect and oppose these errors, 

(1.) We may consider man very generally in his 
species as distinct from and superior to the other 
creatures, and what it is, in which the difference 
truly consists. (2.) As an individual, what are the 
parts which constitute his nature. 

1. Philosophers have generally attempted to 
assign the precise distinction between men and the 
other animals ; but when endeavouring to bring it 
to one peculiar incommunicable characteristic, 
they have generally contradicted one another, and 
sometimes disputed with violence, and rendered 
the thing more uncertain, . 

The difficulty of fixing upon a precise criterion, 
only serves to show that in man Vv'e have an exam- 
ple of what we see also every where else, viz. a 
Jbeautiful and insensible gradation from one thing 
to another, so that the highest of the inferior is, 
as it were, connected and blended with the lowest 
of the superior class. Birds and beasts are con- 
nected by some species, so that )^ou Vv ill find it 
hard to say whether they belong to the one or the 
other — So indeed it is in the whole vegetable as 
well as animal kingdom. (1.) Some say 712 en are 
distinguished from brutes by reason, andcertain= 
ly this, either in kind or degree, is the most ho- 
nourable of our distinctions. (2.) Others say that. 

B 2 



10 LECTUPvES ON 

many brutes give strong signs of reason, as dogs, 
horses and elephants* But that man is distinguish- 
ed by memory and foresight : but I apprehend that 
these are upon the same footing with reason, if 
there are some ghmmerings of reason in the brute 
creation, there are also manifest proofs of memory, 
and some of foresight. (3) Some have thought it 
proper to distinguish man from the inferior crea- 
tures by the use of speech, no other creatures hav- 
ing an articulate language. Here again we are 
obliged to acknowledge that our distinction is 
chiefly the excellence emd fulness of articulate dis- 
course ; for brutes have certainly the art of ma- 
king one another understand many things by 
sound. — (4) Some have said that man is not com- 
pletely distinguished by any of these, but by a 
sense of religion. And I tliink it must be admitted 
that of piety or a sense of a suprem^e Being, there 
is not any trace to be seen in the inferior creatures. 
The stories handed about by weak-minded per- 
sons, or retailed by credulous authors, of respect 
in them to churches, or sacred persons, are to be 
disdained as wiiolly fabulous and visionary. (5) 
There have been some who have said that man is 
distinguished fromithe brutes by a sense oi ridicule. 
The whole creation (says a certain author) is 
grave except man, no one lauglis but himself. 
There is something whimsical in fixing upon this 
as the criterion, and it does not seem to set us in a 
very respectable light. Perhaps it is not impro- 
per to smile upon the occasion, and to say, that if 
this sentiment is embraced, we shall be obliged 
to confess kindred with the apes, who are certainly 
themselves possessed of a risible faculty, as well 



MORAL PHILOSOPHT. 11 

it 

as qualified to excite laughter in us. On the whole 
there seems no necessity of fixing upon some one 
criterion to the exclusion of others. 

There is a great and apparent distinction be- 
tween man and the inferior animals, not only in 
the beauty of his form, which the poet takes notice 
of, Os homini sublime dedit, &c. but also in rea- 
son, memory, reflection, and the knowledge of 
God and a future state. 

A general distinction, which deserves particu- 
lai'ly to be taken notice of in moral disquisitions, 
is, that man is evidently made to be guided, and 
protected from dangers, and supplied with what 
is useful more by reason, and brutes more by in- 
stinct. 

It is not very easy and perhaps not necessary to 
explain instinct. It is something previous to rea- 
son and choice. When we say the birds build their 
nests by instinct, and man builds his habitation by 
reflection, experience or instruction, we under- 
stand the thing well enough, but if vvC attempt to 
give a logical definition of either the one or the 
other, it will immediately be assaulted by a thou- 
sand alignments. 

Though man is evidently governed by some- 
thing else than instinct, he also has several instinct- 
ive propensities, some of them independent of, and 
some of them intermixed with his moral disposi- 
tions. Of the first kind are hunger, thirst, and 
some others \ of the last is the storge^ or parental 
tenderness towai^ds offspring. 

On instinct we shall only say fiu'ther,. that it 
leads more immediately to the appointment of the 
Creator, and whether in man, or in other creatures, 



LECTURES ON 



operates more early and more uniformly than rea- 
son. 



LECTURE 11. 

2d. CONSIDERING man as an individual, 
we discover the most obvious and remarkable cir- 
cumstances of his nature, that he is a com.pound of 
body and spirit. I take this for granted here,because 
weareonly explainingthe nature of man. When we 
come to his sentiments and principles of action, it 
will be more proper to take notice of the spirituali- 
ty and immortality of the soul, and how they are 
proved. 

The body and spirit have a great reciprocal in- 
fluence one upon another. The body on tlie tem- 
per and disposition of the soul, and the soul on the 
state and habit of the body. The body is properly 
the minister of the soul, the means of conveying 
perceptions to it, but no'thing without it. 

It is needless to enlarge upon the structure of 
the body ; this is sufficiently known to all, except 
we descend to anatomical exactness, and then, like, 
all the other parts of nature, it shows the infinite 
wisdom of the Creator. With regard to m^orals, 
the influence of the body in a certain view may be 
very great in enslaving men to appetite, and yet 
there does not seem any such connexion with 
morals as to require a particular description. I 
think there is little reason to doubt that there are 
great and essential differences betv^een man and 
man, as to the spirit and its proper powers ; but 
it seems plain that such are the laws of union be- 



IvlORAL PHILOSOPHY* 



tvveen the body and spirit, that many faculties are 
weakened and some rendered altogether incapa- 
ble of exercise, merely by an alteration of the state 
of the body. Memory is frequently lost and judg- 
ment weakened by old age and disease. Some- 
times, by a confusion of the brain in a fall, the 
judgment is wholly disordered. The instinctive 
appetites of hunger, and thirst, seem to reside di- 
rectly in the body, and the soul to have little more 
than a passive perception. Some passions, particu- 
larly fear and rage, seem also to have their seat in 
the body, immediately producing a certain modi- 
fication of the blood and spirits. — This indeed is 
perhaps the case in some degree with all passions 
whenever they are indulged ; they give a modifica- 
tion to the blood and spirits, Vv^hich make them 
easily rekindled ; but there ai^e none which 
do so instantaneously arise from the body, aiid 
prevent deliberation, will and choice, as these now 
named. To consider the evil passions to which 
we are liable, we may say those that depend most 
upon the body, are fear, anger, voluptuousness ; 
and those that depend least upon it, are ambition, 
envy, covetousness. 

The faculties of the mind are commonly divi- 
ded into these three kinds, the understanding, the 
will, and the affections ; though perhaps it is pro- 
per to observe, that these are not three qualities 
wholly distinct, as if they were three different be- 
ings, but different ways of exerting the same sim- 
ple principle. It is the soul or mind that under- 
stands, wills, or is affected with pleasure and pain. 
The understanding seems to have truth for its ob- 



14 LECTURES ON 

ject, the discovering things as they really are in 
themselves, and in their relations one to another. 
It has been disputed whether good be in any de- 
gree the object of the understanding. On the one 
hand it seems as if truth, and that only, belonged to 
the understanding ; because we can easily suppose 
persons of equal intellectual powers and opposite 
moral characters. Nay, we can suppose malignity 
joined to a high degree of understanding, and vir- 
tue or true goodness to a much lower. On the 
other hand, the choice made by the will seems to 
have the judgment or deliberation of the under- 
standing as its very foundation. How can this be, 
it will be said, if the understanding has nothing to 
do widi good or evil ? A considerable opposition 
of sentiments among philosophers has arisen from 
this question. Dr. Clark, and some others, make 
understanding or reason the immediate principle 
of virtue. Shaftsbury, Hutchinson, and others, 
make affection the principle of it. Perhaps neither 
the one nor the other is wholly right. Probably 
both are necessary. 

The connexion between truth and goodness, 
between the understanding and the heart, is a sub- 
ject of great moment, but also of great difficulty. 
I think we may say with certainty, that infinite 
perfection, intellectual and moral, are united and 
inseparable in the Supreme Being. There is not 
however in inferior natures an exact proportion 
between the one and the other ; yet I apprehend 
that truth naturally and necessarily promotes good- 
ness, and falsehood the contrary ; but as the influ- 
ence is reciprocal, malignity of disposition, even 
with the greatest natural powers, blinds the und^ 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 15 

Standing, and prevents the perception of truth 
itself. 

Of the will it is usual to enumerate four acts ; 
desire, aversion, joy, and sorrow. The two last, 
Hutchinson says are superfluous, in which he 
seems to be right. All the acts of the will may be 
reduced to the two great heads of desire and aver- 
sion, or in other words, choosing and refusing. 

The affections are called also passions, because 
often excited by external objects. In as far as they 
differ from a calm deliberate decision of the judg- 
ment, or determination of the will, they may be 
called strong propensities, implanted in our na- 
ture, which of themselves contribute not a little to 
bias the judgment, or incline the will. 

The affections cannot be better understood,than 
by observing the difference between a calm de- 
liberate general inclination, whether of the selfish 
or benevolent kind, and paiticular violent inclina- 
tions. Every man deliberately wishes his own hap- 
piness; but this differs considerably froma passion- 
ate attachment to particular gratifications, as a love 
of riches, honors, pleasures. A good man will 
have a deliberate fixed desire of the welfare of 
mankind ; but this differs from the love of chil- 
dren, relations, friends, country. 

The passions are very numerous and may be 
greatly diversified, because every thing, hov/ever 
modifijed, that is the object of desire or aversion, 
may grow by accident or indulgence, to such a 
size, as to be called, and deserve to be called, a 
passion. Accordingly we express ourselves thus 
in the English language. A passion for horses, 
<logs,play, &c.. 



16 LECTURES ON 

However, all the passions may be ranged under 
the two great heads of love and hatred. To the 
first belong esteem, admu'ation, good-will, and 
every species of approbation, delight, and desire ; 
to the other, all kinds of aversion, and ways of 
expressing it, envy^ malice^ rage^revenge^ to what- 
ever objects they may be directed. 

Hope and fear, joy and sorrow, though fre- 
quently ranked among the passions, seem rather 
to be states or modifications of the mind, attending 
the exercise of ever}^ passion, according as its ob» 
ject is probable or improbable, possest or lost. 

Jealousy seems to be a passion of a middle na- 
ture, which it is' not easy to say whether it should 
be ranked under the head of love or hatred. It is 
often said of jealousy between the sexes, that it 
springs from love ; yet, it seems plainly impossi- 
ble, that it can have place without forming an ill 
opinion of its object, at leart in some degree. The 
same thing may be said of jealousy and suspicion 
in friendship. 

The passions may be ranged in two classes in a 
different way, viz. as they ai'C selfish or benevo- 
lent, public or private. There will be great occa- 
sion to consider this distinction afterwards, in ex- 
plaining the nature of virtue, and the motives that 
lead to it. What is observed now, is only to illus- 
trate our nature as it really is. There is a great and 
real distinction between passions, selfish and be- 
nevolent. The first point directly, and im.mediate- 
ly, at our own interest in the gratification ; the 
others point immediately at the happiness of | 
others. Of the first kind, is the love of fame, pow- 
er, property, pleasure. And of the second, is fam- 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 17 

ily and domestic affection, friendship and patriot- 
ism. It is to no purpose to say, that, uhimately, it 
is to please ourselves, or because we feel a satis- 
faction in seeking the good of others ; for it is cer- 
tain, that the direct object in view in many cases, 
is to promote the happiness of others ; and for 
this many have been willing to sacrifice every 
thing, even life itself. 

After this brief survey of human nature, in one 
light, or in one point of view, which may be call- 
ed its capacity, it will be necessary to return back, 
and take a survey of the way, in which we become 
acquainted with the objects about which we are to 
be conversant, or upon w^hich the above faculties 
are to be exercised. 

On this it is proper to observe in general, that 
there are but two ways in which we come to the 
knowledge of things, viz. 1st, Sensation, 2d, Re- 
flection. 

The first of these must be divided again into 
two parts, external and internal. 

External arises from the immediate impression 
of objects from w ithout. The external senses in 
number are five ; seeing, hearing, feeling, tasting, 
and smelling. 

In these are observable the impression itself, or 
the sensation we feel, and the supposition in- 
separable from it, that it is produced by an exter- 
nal object. That our senses are to be trusted in 
the information they give us, seems to me a first 
principle, because they are the foundation of all 
our after reasonings. The few exceptions of acci- 
dental irregularity in the senses can found no just 

C 



18 LECTURES ON 

objection to this, as there are so many plain and 
obvious ways of discovering and correcting it. 

The reality of the material system, I think, may 
be easily established, except upon such principles 
as are subversive of all certainty, and lead to uni- 
versal scepticism ; and persons who would main- 
tain such principles do not deserve to be reason- 
ed with, because they do not pretend to commu- 
nicate kiK)wledge, but to take all knowledge from 
us. 

The Immaterialists say, that we are conscious of 
nothing but the impression or feeling of our ownn 
mind ; but they do not observe that the impression 
itself implies and supposes something extei-nal 
that communicates it, and cannot be separated 
from that supposition. Sometimes such reasoners 
tell us, that we cannot shew the substance separate 
from its sensible qualities ; no more can any man 
shew me a sensible quality separate from a parti- 
cular subject. If any man will shew me whiteness, 
without shewing mie any thing that is white, or 
roundness, without any thing that is round, I will 
shew him the substance without either colour or 
shape. 

Immaterialisni takes av/ay the distinction be. 
tween truth and falsehood. I have an idea of a 
bouse or tree in a certain place, and I call this true, 
that is J I am of opinion, there is really a house 
or tree in that place. Again, I form an idea oP a 
house or tree, as what may be in that place ; I ask 
what is the difference, if after all, you tell me, there 
is neither tree, house nor place any where existing. 
An advocate for that system says, that truth con- 
sists in tJie liveliness of the idea, than which no= 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY* 19 

thing can be more manifestly false. I can form as 
distinct an idea of any thing that is not, as any thing 
that is, when it is absent from my sight. I have 
a much more lively idea of Jupiter and Juno, and 
many of their actions, from Homer and Virgil, 
though I do not believe that any of them ever ex- 
isted, than I have of many things that I know hap- 
pened within these few mothns. 

The truth is, the immaterial system is a v/ild 
and ridiculous attempt to unsettle the principles 
of common sense by metaphysical reasoning, 
which can hardly produce any thing but contempt 
in the generality of persons who hear it, and which, 
I verily believe, never produced conviction even 
on the persons who pretend to espouse ito 



LECTURE III- 

INTERNAL sensation is what Mr. Hutch- 
inson calls the finer powers of perception. It takes 
its rise from external objects, but, by abstraction, 
considers something farther than merely the sen- 
sible qualities— 

1. Thus with respect to many objects, there is 
a sense of beauty in the appearance, structure or 
composition, which is altogether distinct from 
mere colour, shape and extension. How then is this 
beauty perceived ? It enters by the eye, but it is 
perceived and relished by v/hat may be well 
enough called an internal sense, quality or capaci- 
ty of the mind. 

2. There is a sense of pleasure in imitation, 
whence the arts of painting, sculpture, poetry. 



I 



20 LECTURES ON 

are often called the imitative arts. It is easy to see 
that the imitation itself gives the pleasure, for we 
receive much pleasure from a lively description of 
v/hat would be painful to behold 

3. A sense of harmony. 

4. A sense of order or proportion. 
Perhaps, after all, the whole of these senses may 

be considered as belonging to one class, and to be 
the particulars which either singly, or by the uni- 
on of several of them, or of the whole, produce 
what is called the nleasures of the imasrination. 
If so, we may extend these senses to every thing 
that enters into the principles of beauty and grace- 
fulness.— Order, proportion, simplicity, intricacy, 
uniformity, vaiiety — especially as these principles 
have any thing in common that is equally applica- 
ble to all the fine arts, painting, statuary, architec- 
ture, music, poetry, oratory. 

The various theories upon the principles of 
beauty, or what it is that properly constitutes it, 
are of much importance on the subject of taste 
and criticism, but of very little in point of morals. 
Whether it be a simple perception that cannot be 
analysed, or a Je ne scai quoi, as the French call 
it, that cannot be discovered, it is the same thing 
to our present purpose, since it cannot be denied, 
that there is a perception of beauty, and that this 
is very dilFerent from the mere colour or dimen- 
sions of the object. This beauty extends to the 
form and shape of visible, or to the grace and mo- 
tion of living objects ; indeed, to ail works of art, 
and productions of genius. 

These are called the reflex senses sometimes, and 
it is of moment to observe both that they really 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 21 

belong to our nature, and that they ai^e very dif- 
ferent from the grosser perceptions of external 
sense. 

It must also be observed, that several distin- 
guished writers have added as an internal sense, 
that of morality, a sense and perception of moral 
excellence, and our obligation to conform our- 
selves to it in our conduct* 

Though there is no occasion to join Mr. Hutch- 
inson or any other, in their opposition to such as 
make reason the principle of virtuous conduct, yet 
I think it must be admitted, that a sense of moral 
good and evil is as really a principle of our nature, 
as either the gross external or reflex senses, and 
as truly distinct from both, as they ai^e from each 
other. 

This moral sense is precisely the same thing 
with what, in Scripture and common language, 
we call conscience. It is the law which our Ma- 
ker has ^\Titten upon our hearts, and both intimates 
and enforces duty, previous to all reasoning. The 
opposers of innate ideas, and of the law of nature, 
are unwilling to admit the reality of a moral sense, 
yet their objections are wholly frivolous. The 
necessity of education and information to the pro- 
duction and exercise of the reflex senses, or pov*- 
ers of the imagination, is every whit as great as to 
the application of the moral sense. If therefore any 
one should say, as is often done by Mr. Locke, if 
there are any innateprinciples what are they ? enu- 
merate them to me ;if they are essential to maii^ 
they must be in every man ; let me take any art- 
less clown and examine him, and see if he can tell 
me what they are. — ^I would sav, if the principles 

C2 " 



22 ^ LECTURES ON 

of taste are natural, thev must be universal. Let 
me try the down then, and see whether he will 
agree with us, either in discovering the beauty of 
a poem or picture, or being able to assign the rea- 
sons of his approbation. 

There are two senses which are not easily redu- 
cible to any of the two kinds of internal senses, and 
yet certainly belong to our nature. They are alli- 
ed to one another— A sense of ridicule, and a sense 
of honor and shame. A sense of the ridiculous is 
something peculiar; for though it be admitted 
that every thing that is ridiculous is at the same 
time unreasonable and absurd ; yet it is as certain 
the terms are not convertible, for any thing that is 
absurd is not ridiculous. There are an hundred 
falsehoods in mathematics and other sciences, that 
do not tempt any body to laugh. 

Shaftsbury has, through his whole writings, en- 
deavoured to establish this principle, that ridicule 
is the test of truth ; but the falsehood of that opi- 
nion appears from tlie above remark, for there is 
. something really distinct from reasoning in ridi- 
cule. It seems to be putting imagination in the 
place of reason,— See Brown's Essays on the 
Characteristics. 

A sense of honour and shame seems, in a cer- 
tain view, to subject us to the opinions of others, 
as they depend upon the sentim.ents of our fellow- 
creatures. Yet, perhaps we may consider this sen- 
timent as intended to be an assistant or guai^d to 
* virtue, by making us apprehend reproach from 
others for what is in itself worthy of blame. This 
isense is very strong and powerful in its effects, 
whether it be guided by true or false principles. 



MORAL PHILOSOPfiV. 23 

After this survey of human nature, let us con- 
sider how we derive either the nature or obligation 
of duty from it. 

One way is to consider what indications we have 
from our nature, of the way that leads to the tru- 
est happiness. This must be done by a careful at- 
tention to the several classes of perceptions and af= 
fections, to see which of them are most excellent, 
delightful, or desirable. 

They will then soon appeal' to be of tliree great 
classes, as mentioned above, easily distinguisha- 
ble from one another, and gradually rising above 
one another. 

1. The gratification of the external senses. 
This aifords some pleasure.' We are led to desire 
what is pleasing, and to avoid what is disgustful 
to them. 

2. The finer powers of perception give a delight 
Vvhich is evidently more excelleimt, and which we 
must necessarily pronounce more noble. Poetry, 
painting, music, &c, the exertion of genius, and 
exercise of the mental powers in general, give a, 
pleasure, though not so tumultuous, much more 
refined, and which does not so soon satiate. 

3. Superior^ to both these, is a sense of moral 
excellence, and a pleasure arising from doing what 
is dictated by the moral sense. 

It must doubtless be admitted that this repre- 
sentation is agreeable to truth, and that to those 
who would calmly and fairly weigh the delight of 
moral action, it must appear superior to any other 
gratification, being most noble^ pure and durable. 
Therefore we might conclude, that it is to be pre- 
ferred before all other sources of pleasure — ^that 



24 LECTURES ON 

they are to give way to it when opposite, and to 
be no otherwise embraced than in subserviency 
to it. 

But though we cannot say there is any thing 
false in this theory, there are certainly very essen- 
tial defects. — As for example, it wholly confounds 
or leaves entirely undistinguished, actmg virtu- 
ously from seeking happiness : so that promoting 
our own happiness will in that case be the essence 
or definition of virtue, and a view to our own in- 
terest will be the sole and complete obligation to 
virtue. Now there is good ground to believe not 
only that reason teaches us, but that the moral 
sense dictates to us, sometliingmoreon both heads, 
viz. thatthereare disinterested affections that point 
directly at the good of others, and that these ai^e 
so far from meriting to be excluded from the no- 
tion of virtue altogether, that they rather seem to 
claim a preference to the selfish affections. I know 
the friends of the scheme of self-interest have a 
v^^ay of colouring or solving this. They say, men. 
only approve and delight in benevolent affections, 
as pleasing and delightful to themselves. But this 
is not satisfying, for it seems to weaken the force 
of public affection very much, to refer it all to self- 
interest, and when nature seems to be carrying 
you out of yourself, by strong instinctive propen- 
sities or implanted affections,^ to turn the current 
and direction of these into the stream of self-inte- 
rest, in which experience tells us we ai^e most apt 
to run to a vicious excess. 

Besides it is aflirmed, and I think with good rea- 
son, that the moral sense carries a good deal more 
in it than merely an approbation of a certain class 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 25 

■ of actions as beautiful, praise worthy or delightful, 
and therefore finding our interest in them as the 
most noble gratification. The moral sense implies 
also a sense of obligation, that such and such things 
are right and others wrong ; that we are bound in 
duty to do the one, and that our conduct is hateful, 
blameable, and deserving of punishment, if we do 
the contrary ; and there is also in the moral sense 
or conscience, an apprehension or belief that re- 
ward and punishment will follow, according as we 
shall act in the one way, or in the other. 

It is so far fi'om being true, that there is no more 
in virtuous action than a superior degree of beauty, 
or a more noble pleasure, that indeed the beauty 
and sweetness of virtuous action ai^ises from this 
very circumstance — ^that it is a compliance with 
duty or supposed obligation. Take away this, 
and the bcpiuty vanishes as well as the pleasure. 
Why is it more pleasant to do a just or charitable 
action, than to satisfy my palate with delightful 
meat, or to walk in a beautiful garden, or read an 
exquisite poem ? only because I feel myself under 
an obligation to do it, as a thing useful and impor- 
tant in itself. It is not duty because pleasing, but 
pleasing because duty. — The same thing may be 
said of beauty and approbation. I do not approve of 
the conduct of a plain, honest, industrious, pious 
man, because it is more beautiful than that of an idle 
profligate, but I say it is more beautiful and amia- 
ble, because he keeps within the bounds of duty. 
I see a higher species of beauty in moral action : 
but it arises from a sense of obligation. It may be 
said, that my interest and duty are the same, be- 
cause they are inseparable, and the one arises from 



26 LECTURES ON 

the other ; but there is a i:^al distinction and prio- 
rity of order. A thing is not my duty, because it 
is my interest, but it is a wise appointment of na- 
ture, that I shall forfeit my interest, if I neglect 
my duty. 

Several other remarks might be made to confirm 
this. When any person has by experience found 
that in seeking pleasure he embraced a less pleas- 
ing enjoyment, in place of one more delightful, he 
raiay be sensible of mistake or misfortune, but he 
has nothing at all of the feeling of blame or self- 
condemnation ; but when he hath done an immo- 
ral action, he has an inward remorse, and feels that 
he has broken a law, and that he ought to have done 
otherwise. 



LECTURE TV. 

THIS therefore lays under the necessity of 
searching a little further for the principle of moral 
action. In order to do this with the greater accu- 
racy, and give you a view of the chief controversies 
on this subject, observe, that there are really three 
questions upon it, which must be inquired into, 
and distinguished. I am sensible, they are so in- 
timately connected, that they are sometimes ne- 
cessarily intermixed ; but at others, not distin- 
guishing, leads into error. The questions relate to 

1. The nature of virtue. 

2. The fouiidalion of virtue. 

3. The obligation of virtue. 

When v/e inquire into the nature of virtue, we" 
do enough, when w^e point out vAat it is, or show 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 27 

how we may come to the knowledge of every par- 
ticular duty, and be able to distinguish it from the 
opposite vice. When we speak of the foundation 
of virtue, we ask or answer the question. Why is 
it so ? Why is this course of action preferable to 
the contrary ? What is its excellence ? When we 
speak of the obligation of virtue, \vt ask by what 
law we are bound, or from what principles we 
ought to be obedient to the precepts which it con- 
tains or prescribes. 

After speaking something to each of these — ^to 
the controversies that have been raised upon them 
— ^and the propriety or importance of entering far 
into these controversies, or a particular decision of 
of them, I shall proceed to a detail of the moral laws, 
or the several branches of duty, according to the di- 
vision first laid down. 

1. As to the nature of virtue, or what it is ; or, 
in other words, what is the rule by which I must 
try every disputed practice — ^tliat I may keep clear 
of the next question, you may observe, that upon 
all the systems they must have recourse to one 
or more of the following, viz. Conscience, reason, 
experience. All who found virtue upon affection, 
particularly Hutchinson, Shaftsbury and their fol- 
lowers, make the moral sense the rule of duty, and 
very often attempt to exclude the use of reason 
on this subject. These authors seem also to make 
benevolence and public affection the standard of 
virtue, in distinction from all private and selfish 
passions. 

Doctor Clark, and most English writers of the 
last age, make reason the standard of virtue, par- 
ticularly as opposed to inv/ard sentiment or affec« 



28 LECTURES ON 

tion. They have this to say particularly in support 
of their opinion, that reason does in fact often 
controul and alter sentiment ; whereas sentiment 
cannot alter the clear decisions of reason. Suppose 
my heart dictates to me any thing to be my duty, 
as for example^ to have compassion on a person 
detected in the commission of crimes ; yet if, up- 
on cool reflection, I perceive that suffering him to 
go unpunished will be hurtful to the community, 
I counteract the sentiment from the deductions of 
reason. 

Again : Some take in the aid of experience, 
and chiefly act upon it. All particularly who are 
upon the selfish scheme, find it necessary to make 
experience the guide, to show them what things 
are really conducive to happiness and what not. 

We shall pro eed to consider the opinions upon 
the nature of virtue, the chief of which are as fol- 
low : 

1. Some say that virtue consists in acting agreea- 
bly to the nature and reason of things. And that 
we are to abstract from all aflPection, public and 
private, in determining any question upon it. 
Clark. 

2. Some say that benevolence or public affec- 
tion is virtue, and that a regard to the good of the 
whole is the standard of virtue. What is most 
remarkable in this scheme is. that it makes the 
sense of obligation in particular instances give way 
to a supposed greater good. Hutchinson^ 

6. One author (Wollston Rel. of Nat. delinea- 
ted) makes truth the foundation of virtue, and he 
reduces the good or evil of any action to the truth 
or falsehood of a proposition. This opinion dif= 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY* 



29 



fers not in substance, but in words only, from Dr. 
Clark's. 

4. Others place virtue in self-love, and make a 
well regulated self-love the standard and founda- 
tion of it. This scheme is best defended by Dr<. 
Campbell, of St. Andrews, 

5. Some of late have made sympathy the stand- 
ard of virtue, particularly Smith, in his Theory of 
Moral Sentiments. He says we have a ceitain feel- 
ing^ by which we sympathize, and as he calls it, 
go along with what appears to be right. This is 
but a new phraseology for the moral sense. 

6. David Hume has a scheme of morals that 
is peculiar to himself. He makes every thing that 
is agreeable and useful virtuous, and vice versa, 
by which he entirely annihilates the difference be- 
tween natural and moral qualities, making health, 
strength, cleanliness, as really virtues as integrity 
and truth. 

7. We have an opinion pubUshed in this coun- 
try, that virtue consists in the love of being as 
such* 

Severalof these authors do easily and naturally 
incorporate piety with their system, particularly 
Clark, Hutchinson, Campbell and Edwards. 

And there are some who begin by establishing 
natural religion, and then found virtue upon piety. 
This amounts to the same thing in substance ; for 
reasoners upon the natvire of virtue only mean to 
show what the Author of nature has pointed out as 
duty. And after natural religion is established on 
general proofs, it will remain to point out what are 
its laws, which, not taking in revelation, must 

D 



so LECTURES ON 

bring us back to consider our own nature, and the 
rational deductions from it. 

2. The opinions on the foundation of virtue may 
be summed up in the four following : 

1. The will of God. 2. The reason and nature 
of things. 3. The public interest. 4. Private in- 
terest. 

1. The will of God. By this is not meant what 
was mentioned above, that the intimations of the 
divine will point out what is our duty ; but that 
the reason of the difference between virtue and 
vice is to be sought no where else than in the good 
pleasure of God. That there is no intrinsic ex- 
cellence in any thing but as he commands or for- 
bids it. They pretend that if it were otherwise, 
there would be something above the Supreme 
Being; something in the nature of things that 
would lay him under the law of necessity or fate. 
But notwithstanding the difficulty of our forming 
•clear conceptions on this subject, it seems very 
harsh ^nd unreasonable to say that the difference 
between virtue and vice is no other than the di- 
vine will. This would be taking away the mor- 
al character even of God himself. It would not 
have ai^y meaning then to say^ he is iniinitely holy 
and infinitely perfect. But probably those who 
have asserted this, did not mean any more than 
that the divine will is so perfect and excellent, that 

all virtue is reduced to conformity to it and 

that we ought not to judge of good and evil by 
anj^ other rule* This is as true as that the divine 
conduct is the standard of wisdom. 

2. Some found it in the reason and nature of 
things. This may be said to be true, but not 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. oi 

sufficiently precise and explicit. Those who em- 
brace this principle succeed best in their reason-^ 
ing, when endea\^oring to show that there is an 
essential difference between virtue and vice. But 
when they attempt to show wherein this differ- 
ence doth or can consist, other than public or 
private happiness, they speak with very little 
mieaning. 

3. Public happiness. Tliis opinion is,, that the 
foundation of virtue, or that which makes the dis- 
tinction between it and vice, is its tendexxy to 
promote the general good y so that utility at bot- 
tom is the principle of virtue, even with the great 
patrons of disinterested affection. 

4. Private happiness. Those vvho choose to 
place the foundation of virtue here, would have us 
to consider no other excellence in it than what 
immediately conduces to our own gratification. 

Upon these opinions I vrould observe, that there 
is something true in every one of them, but that 
they may be easily pushed to an en^or by excess. 

The nature and will of God is so perfect as to 
be the true standard of all excellence, natural and 
moral : and if we are sure of what he is or com- 
mands> it would be presumption and folly to rea- 
son against it, or put our views of fitness in the 
room of his pleasure ; but to say that God, by his 
will, might have made the same temper and con- 
duct virtuous and excellent, which we now call 
vicious, seemxS to unhinge all our notions of the 
supreme excellence even of God himself. 

Ag^in, there seems to be in the nature of things 
an intrinsic excellence in moral vrorth, and an in- 
delible impression of it upon the conscience, dis- 



32 LECTURES ON 

tinct from producing or receiving happiness, and 
yet we cannot easily illustrate its excellence, but 
by comparing one kind of happiness with ano- 
ther. 

Again, promoting the public or general good 
seems to be so nearly connected with virtue, that 
w^e must necessarily suppose that universal vir- 
tue could be of universal utility. Yet there are 
two e:xcesses to which this has sometimes led. — 
One the fatalist and necessitarian schemes, to 
which there are so many objections ; and the other, 
the making the general good the ultimate practi- 
cal rule to every particular person so, that he may 
violate particular obligations with a view to a more 
general benefit. 

Once more, it is certain that viitue is as really 
^ connected v/ith private as with public happiness, 
and yet to make the interest of the agent the only 
foundation of it seem_s so to narrow the mind, and 
to be so destructive to the public and generous 
alFections, as to produce the most hurtful effects. 

If I were to lay down a few propositions on the 
foundation of virtue, as a philosopher, they should 
be the following : 

1. From reason, contemplation, sentiment and 
tradition, the Being and infinite perfection and ex- 
cellence of God may be deduced ; and therefore 
what he is, and commands, is virtue and duty. 
Whatever he has implanted in uncorrupted na- 
ture as a principle is to be received as his will. 
Propensities resisted and contradicted by the in- 
ward principle of conscience are to be considered 
as inherent or contracted vice. 

2. True virtue certainly promotes the general 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY, 



good, and this may be made use of as an argument 
in doubtful cases, to determine Vv^hether a particular 
principle is right or wrong, but to make the good 
of the whole our immediate principle of action, is 
putting ourselves in God's place, and actually su- 
perseding the necessity and use of the particular 
principles of duty which he hath impressed upon 
the conscience. As to the whole, I believe the uni- 
verse is faultless and perfect, but I am unwil- 
ing to say it is the best possible system, because I 
am not able to understand such an argument, and 
because it seems to me absurd that infinite per- 
fection should exhaust or limit itself by a created 
production. 

3. There is in the nature of things a difference 
between virtue and vice, and however much vir- 
tue and happiness are connected b}/ the divine Jaw\ 
and in the event of things, we are made so as to 
feel towards them, and conceive of them, as dis- 
tinct. We have the simple perceptions of duty 
and interesta 

4. Private and public interest may be promo- 
ted by the same means, but they are distinct 
views; they should be made to assist, and- not 
destroy each other. 

The result of the whole is, that we ought to take 
the rule of duty from conscience, enlightened by 
reason, experience, and every way by which we 
can be supposed to learn the will of our Maker, 
and his intention in creating us such as we are. 
And we ought to believe that it is as deeply foun- 
ded as the nature of God himself, being a trans- 
script of his moral excellence^ and that it is produc=» 
live of the greatest good, . 
j> 2 



34 LECTURES ON 



LECTURE V. 



3. IT remains only that we speak of the ob- 
ligation of virtue, or what is the law that binds us 
to the performance, and from what motives or 
principles we ought to follow its dictates.. 

The sentiments upon this subject differ, as men 
have dilFerent views of the nature and foundation 
of virtue, yet they may be reduced within narrow- 
er bounds. 

The obligation of virtue may be easily reduced 
to two general kinds, duty and interest. The first, 
if real, implies that we are under some law, or 
subject to some superior, to whom we are ac- 
countable. The other only implies that nature 
points it out to us as our own greatest happiness, 
and that there is no other reason why we ought 
to obev. 

Nov/ I think it is very plain that there is more 
in the c^ligation of virtue, than merely our great- 
est happiness. The moral sentiment itself implies 
that it is duty, independent of happiness. This 
produces remorse and disapprobation, as having 
done what is blameable and of ill desert. We have 
two ideas very distinct, when we see a man mis- 
taking his own interest and not obtaining so much 
happiness as he might, and when we see him 
breaking through every moral obligation. In the 
first case we consider him as only accountable to 
himself, in the second we consider him as ac- 
countable to some superior, and to the public. 
This sense of duty is the primary notion of law 
and of rights, taken in their most extensive sig- 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY, 



nification, as including every thing we think we 
are entitled to expect from others, and the neglect 
or violation of which we consider as wrong, un- 
just, vicious, and therefore blameable. It is also 
affirmed with great apparent reason by many, par- 
ticularly Butler in his Analogy and his sermons, 
that we have a natural feeling of ill desert, and 
merited punishment^- in vice. The patrons of the 
selfish ideas, alone, are those who confine the ob- 
ligation of virtue to happiness. 

But of those who are, or would be thought of 
the opposite sentiment, there are some who differ 
very considerably from others. Some who pro- 
fess great opposition to the selfish scheme, declare 
also great aversion to founding the obligation of 
virtue in any degree on the will of a superior, or 
looking for any sanction of punishment, to cor- 
roborate the moral laws. This they especially treat 
vv ith contempt, when it is supposed to be from 
the deity. Shaftsbury speaks with great bitterness 
against taking into view a future state of what he 
calls mxOre extended self-interest. He says men 
should love virtue for its own sake, without re- 
gard to reward or punishment. In this he has been 
followed by many reasoners, as far as their regard 
to religion would permit them. 

K, however, we attend to the dictates of con- 
science, we shall find evidently, a sense of duty, 
of self- approbation and remorse, which plainly 
show us to be under a law, and that law to have 
a sanction : what else is the meaning of the fear 
and terror, and apprehension of guilty persons ? 
Quorum mentes si recludantur, &c. says Cicero. 



36 LECTURES ON 

Nor is this all, but we have all certainly a natu- 
ral sense of dependance. The belief of a divine 
being is certainly either innate and necessary, or 
has been handed down from the first man, and 
can now be well supported by the clearest reason. 
And our relation to him not only lays the founda- 
tion of many moral sentiments and duties, but 
completes the idea of morality and law, by sub- 
jecting us to him, and teaching us to conceive of 
him, not only as our Maker, preserver and bene- 
factor, but as our righteous governor and supreme 
judge. As the being and perfections of God are 
irrefragably established, the obligation of duty 
must ultimately rest here. 

It ought not to be forgotten,, that the belief or 
apprehension of a future state of rewards and 
punishments has been as universal as the belief 
of a deity, and seems inseparable from it, and 
tlierefore must be considered as the sanction of 
the moral law. Shaftsbury inveighs severely 
against this, as making man virtuous from a mer- 
cenary view r but there are two ways in Vv hich we 
may consider this matter, and in either light his 
objections have little force. (1.) We may consider 
the primary obligations of virtue as founded upon 
a sense of its own excellence, joined with a sense 
of duty and dependance on the Supreme being, 
and rewards and punishments as a secondary mo- 
tive, which is found, in fact, to be absolutely ne- 
cessary to restrain or reclaim men from vice and 
impiety. Or (2.) We may consider that by the 
light of nature, as well as by revelation,, the fu- 
ture reward of virtue is considered as a state of 
perfect virtue, and the happiness is represented 



3I0RAL PHILOSOPHY. ST 

as arising from this circumstance. Here there is 
nothing at all of a mercenary principle, but only 
an expectation that true goodness, which is here 
in a state of imperfection and liable to much op- 
position, shall then be improved to the highest 
degree, and put beyond any possibility of change. 

We may add to these obligations the manifest 
teiidejicy of a virtuous conduct to promote even 
our present happiness : this, in ordinary cases, it 
does, and when joined with the steady hope of 
futurity, does in all cases produce a happiness su- 
perior to what can be enjoyed in the practice of 
vice. Yet, perhaps, the stoics of old, who denied 
pain to be any evil, and made the wise man supe- 
rior to all the vicissitudes of fortune, carried things 
to a romantic and extravagant height. And so do 
some persons in modern times, who, setting aside 
the consideration of a future state, teach that vir- 
tue is its own revv^ard. There are many situations 
in which, if you deprive a good man of the hope 
of future happiness, his state seems very unde- 
sirable. On the contrary, sometimes the worst of 
men enjoy prosperity and success to a great de- 
gree, nor do they seem to have any such remorse, 
as to be an adequate punishment of their crimes. 
If any should insist, that a good man has always 
some comfort from within, and a bad man a self- 
disapprobation and inward disquiet, suited to their 
characters, I would say that this arises from the 
expectation of a future state, and a hope on the 
one side, and fear on the other, of their condition 
there. 

Those who declaim so highly of virtue being 
its own reward in this life, take away one of tlie 



38 



LECTURES ON 



most considerable arguments, which, from the 
dawn of philosophy, has always been made use of 
as a proof of a future state, viz. the unequal dis- 
tribution of good and evil in this life. Besides 
they do not seem to view the state of bad men pro- 
perly. When they talk of remorse of conscience 
as a sufficient punishment, they forget that this is 
seldom to a high degree, but in the case of some 
gross crimes. Cruelty and murder, frequent acts 
of gross injustice, are sometimes followed with 
deep horror of conscience ; and a course of intem- 
perance or lust is often attended with such dismal 
effects upon the body, fame and fortune, that 
those who survive it a lev/ years, are a melancholy 
spectacle, and a burden to themselves and others. 
But it would be very loose morality, to suppose 
none to be bad men, but those who were under 
the habitual condemnation of conscience. On the 
contrarj' , the fa.r greater part are blinded in their 
luiderstandings, as well as corrupt in their practice. 
— -They deceive themselves, and are at peace. 
Ignorance and ineittention keep the multitude at 
peace. And false principles often produce self-jus- 
tification and ill-founded peace, even in atrocious 
crimes. Even common robbers are sometimes 
found to justify themselves, and say —I must live- 
— I have a right to my share of provision, as 
well as that proud fellow that rolls in his chariot. 
The result of the whole is, that the obligation 
to virtue ought to take in all the following particu- 
lars : A sense of its own intrinsic excellence — of 
its happy consequences in thepresent life — -a sense 
of duty and subjection to the Supreme Being— 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 39 

aiid a hope of future happiness, and fear of future 
misery from his decision. 

Having considered the reasonings on the na- 
ture, foundation and obligation of virtue, I now 
proceed to a more particular detail of the moral 
laws, and shall take them under the three heads 
formerly mentioned, Ethics, Politics, and Juris- 
prudence. 



1 



LECTURE VI. 

AS to the first, we must begin with what is 
usually called the states of man, or the several 
lights or relations in which he may be consider- 
ed, as laying a foundation for duty. These states 
may be divided into two kinds — (1.) Natural. (2.) 
Adventitious. 

The natural states may be enumerated thus : 
(1.) His state with regard to God, or natural rela- 
tion to him. ^2.) To his fellow-creatures. (3.) 
Solitude or society. (4.) Peace or war. Perhaps 
we may add to these (5.j His outward provision, 
plenty or want. 

These are called natural states, because they 
are necessary and universal. All men and at all 
times are related to God. They were made by 
him, and live by his providence. We must also 
necessarily know our fellow-creatures, and their 
state to be similar to ours in this respect and ma- 
ny others. A man must ^t all times be inde- 
pendent or connected with society — at peace with 
others, or at war — ^well provided, or in want. 

The other states ai^e called adventitious,because 



40 LECTUPwES ON 

they are the effect of choice and the fruit of indus- 
try, as marriage — family — master and servant — 
particular voluntary societies — callings or pro- 
fessions — characters or abilities, natural and ac- 
quired — offices in a constituted society — proper- 
ty, and many particular modifications of each of 
these. 

In prosecuting the subject farther, and giving 
an analysis of the moral duties founded upon these 
states, I shall first take notice of our relation to 
God, with the proofs of his being and perfections, 
and then consider the moral laws under three 
heads ; our duty to God, to our neighbour, and 
to ourselves. 

1. Our duty to God. To this place I have re- 
served what was to be said upon the proof of the 
being of God, the great foundation of all natural 
religion ; without w^hich the moral sense would be 
weak and insufficient. 

The proofs of the being of (Sod are generally 
divided into two kinds. (1.) A priori. (2.) A 
posteriori. The first is, properly speaking, meta- 
physical reasoning downward from the first prin- 
ciples of science or truth, and inferring by just 
consequence the being and perfections of God. 
Clark's Demonstration, &c. (if there be any thing 
that should be called a priori, and if this is a con 
elusive method of reasoning) is as complete as 
any thing ever published ; perhaps he has carried 
the principle as far as it will go. 

This way of arguing begins by establishing our 
oVvTi existence from consciousness. That we are 
not necessarily existent, therefore must have a 
cause ; that something must have existed from all 






31'ORAL PHILOSOPHY. 41 

eternity, or nothing ever could have existed; that 
this being must exist by an internal necessity of 
nature ; that what exists necessarily must exist 
alike every where ; must be perfect ; act every 
where ; be independent, omnipotent, omniscient^ 
infinitely good, just, true — Because, as all these 
are evidently perfections or excellencies, that 
which exists by a necessity of nature must be 
possessed of every perfection. And the contrary 
of these virtues implying weakness or insufficien- 
cy, cannot be found in the infinite Being. 

The other medium of proof, commonly called 
a posteriori, begins with contemplating the uni- 
verse in all its parts ; observing that it contains 
many irresistible proofs that it could not be eter- 
nal, could not be without a cause ; that this cause 
must be intelligent ; and from the astonishing 
greatness, the wonderful adjustment and compli- 
cation of things, concludes that .we can set no 
bounds to the perfection of the Maker, because 
we can never exhaust the power, intelligence and 
benignity that we see in his works. In this way of 
arguing we deduce the moral. perfections of the 
Deity from the faint resemblances of them that we 
see in dursehtes. As we necessarily conceive jus- 
tice, goodness, ' tru,th, &c. to be perfections or 
excellencies, we are warranted by the plainest rea- 
son to ascribe them to the Divine Being in an in- 
finite degree. 

There is }>erhaps at bottom no difierence be- 

tween these ways of reasoning, because they must 

in some degree rest upon a common principle^ 

viz. that every thing that exists must have a cause. 

JThis is equally necessary to both the chains of 



42 LECTURES ON 

reasoning, and must itself be taken for an original 
sentiment of nature, or an impression necessarily 
made upon us from all that we see and are conver- 
sant with. About this and some other ideas great 
stir has been made by some infidel writers, par- 
ticularly David Hume, who seems to have indus- 
triously endeavoured to shake the certainty of our 
belief upon cause and effect, upon personal iden- 
tity and the idea of power. It is easy to raise me- 
taphysical subtleties, and confound the under- 
standing on such subjects. In opposition to this, 
some late writers have advanced, with great appa- 
rent reason, that there are certain first principles 
or dictates of common sense, which are either 
simple i^rceptions, or seen with intuitive evi- 
dence. These are the foundation of all reasoning, 
and without them, to reason is a word without a 
meaning. They can no more be proved than you 
can prove an axiom in mathematical science. 
These authors of Scotland have lately produced 
and supported tljis opinion, to resolve at once all 
the refinements and metaphysical objections of 
some infidel writers. 

There is a different sort of argument often made 
use of, or brought in aid of the others, for the be- 
ing of God, VIZ. the consent of all nations, and 
the universal prevalence of that belief. I know not 
whether we must say that this argument rests also 
upon the principle that nothing can exist without 
a cause, or upon the plan just now mentioned. 
If it is an universal dictate of our nature, we must 
take it as true immediately, without further exa- 
mination. 

An author I formerly mentioned has set this^ 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 43 

argument in a peculiar light (Dr. Wilson of New- 
castle). He says that we receive all our knowledge, 
as philosophers admit, by sensation and reflection. 
Now, from all that we see, and all the reflection 
and abstraction upon it we are capable of, he af- 
firms it is impossible we could ever form the idea 
of a spirit or a future state. They have, however, 
been eai'ly and universal, and therefore must have 
been communicated at first, and handed down by 
information and instruction from age to age. So 
that unless upon the supposition of the existence 
of God and his imparting the knowledge of him- 
self to men, it is impossible that any idea of him 
could ever have entered into the human mind. 
There is something ingenious and a good deal of 
probability in this way of reasoning. 

As to the nature of God, the first thing to be 
observed is the unity of God. This is sufficiently 
established upon the reasonings both a priori and 
posteriori. If these reasonings are just for the be- 
ing of God, they are strictly conclusive for the 
unity of God. There is a necessity for the exis- 
tence of one supreme Being, the first cause, but 
no necessity for more ; nay, one supreme inde- 
pendent being does not admit any more. And 
when we view the harmony, order and unity of 
design in the created system, we must be led to 
the belief of the unity of God. 

Perhaps it may be thought an objection to this 
(especially if we lay any stress on the universal 
sentiments of mankind,) that all nations have been 
so prone to the belief and Vvorship of a plurality 
of gods. But this argument is rather specious than 
solid ; as however pront rata were to worship lo- 



44 LECTURES ON 

cal inferior deities, they seem to have considered 
them only as intermediate divinities and interces- 
sors betw^een them and the supreme God. 

The perfections of God may be divided into 
two kinds. Natural^ and Moral. 

1. The natural perfections of God are spirituali- 
ty, immensity, wisdom and power. 

We call these natural perfections, because they 
can be easily distinguished, and in idea at least 
separated, from goodness of disposition. It is 
highly probable indeed that supreme excellence, 
natural and moral, must always reside in the same 
subject, and are truly inseparable ; yet we dis- 
tinguish them not only because the ideas are dis- 
tinct, but because they ai^e by no means in pro- 
poiticn to one anotlier in inferior natures. Great 
powers of mind and perfection of body are often 
joined to malignity of disposition. It is not so 
however in God ; for as his natural perfections are 
founded on reason, so his moral excellence is evi- 
dently founded in the moral sense or conscience 
w^hich he hath implanted in us. 

Spirituality is v/hat w^e may call the very nature 
of God. It niust be admitted that we cannot at 
present form any complete or adequate idea of a 
spirit. And some, as you have heard formerly, in- 
sist that wdthout revelation we could never \\cv\^ 
acquired the idea of it that we have. Yet there are 
many w-ho have i easoned in a very strong and 
seemingly conclusive manner, to show that mind 
or intelligence must be a substance altogether 
distinct from matter. That all the known proper- 
ties of matter are incapable of producing thought, 
as h^YA^ whollv of a different kind — ^that matter 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 45 

as suchj and universally, is inert and divisible ; 
thought or intelligence, active and uncompound- 
€d. See the best reasoning on this subject in Bax- 
ter's Immateriality of the Soul. 

Immensity in the Divine Being is that by which 
he is every where, and equally present. Metaphy- 
sicians, however, differ greatly upon this subject. 
The Cartesians will not admit that place is at all 
applicable to spirits. They say it is an idea whol- 
ly ai'ising from extension, which is one of the 
peculiar and essential qualities of matter. The 
Newtonians, however, who make so much use of 
the idea of infinite space, consider place as es- 
sential to all substance, spirit as well as matter. 
The difficulties are great on both sides. It is 
hard to conceive of spirit at all, separating from it 
the qualities of matter, and after we have attempt- 
ed to do so, it seems to be bringing them back to 
talk of place. And } et it seems not only hard, but 
impossible, to conceive of any real being without 
supposing it in some place, and particularly upon 
the immensity of the Deity, it seems to be put- 
ting created spirits too much on a level with the in- 
finite spirit to deny his immensity. It is I think 
certain they are either confined to a place, or so 
limited in their operations, as is no way so well ex- 
pressed as by saying we are here and no where else; 
And in this sense bath parties must admit the di- 
vine immensity — that his agency is equal, ainiver^ 
sal and irresistible. 

Wisdom is another natural attribute of God, 
implying infinite knowledge — that all thingsin all 
their relations, all things existing, and all things 
possible,, are the objects of the divine knowledge* 

m.2 



46 LECTURES ON 

Wisdom is usvially considered as respecting some 
end to be attained, and it implies the cieai' disco- 
very of the best and most effectual means of attain- 
ing it. 

Power is the being able to do all ^things without 
limit or restraint. The omnipotence of God is al- 
ways considered as an essential perfection, and 
seems to arise immediately from creation and pro- 
vidence. It is common to say that God can do all 
things,except such as imply a contradiction — such 
as to make a thing to be and not to be at the same 
time ; but this is unnecessary and foolish in the 
way of an exception, for such things are net the 
objects of power at all. They are mere absurdities 
in our conception, and indeed we may say, of our 
own creation. All things are possible with God- 
nothing can withstand his power. 



LECTURE TIL 

2d. THE moral perfections of Gcd are ho- 
liness, justice, truth, goodness and mercy. 

Holiness is sometimes taken in a general and 
comprehensive sense^ as being the aggregate, im- 
plying the presence of all moral excellence ; yet 
it is sometimes used, and that beta in the scripture 
revelation and by heathen wTiters, rs a peculiar at- 
tribute. In this limited sense it is extremely dif- 
ficult to define or explain. Holiness is that char- 
acter of God to which veneration, or the most pro- 
found reverence in us, is the correspondent affec- 
tion. It is sometimes also e:^ pressed by purit}',! 
mid when we go to form an idea of it, perhaps wej 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 47 

can scarce say any thing bejier, than that it is his 
being removed at an infinite distance from the 
grossness of material indulgence. 

Justice is an invciriable determination to render 
to all their due. Justice seems to be founded on 
.the strong and unalterable perception we have of 
right and wrong, good and evil, and particularly 
that the one deserves reward, and the other pu- 
nishment. The internal sanction, or the exteivial 
and providential sanction of natural laws, point out 
to us the Justice of God. The chief thing that 
merits attention upon this subject is the contro- 
vers)' about what is called the vindictive justice of 
God. That is to saj^ is there in God, or have we 
a natural sense of the propriety of, a disposition to 
inflict punishment, independently of the conse- 
quences, viz. the reformation of the oftender, or 
the example of others. This loose moralists often 
declaim against. Yet it seems plain, that the sense 
in our minds of good and iU desert makes guilt 
the proper object of punishment simply in itself. 
This may have a relation to general order and the 
good of the whole, which however is out of our 
reach. 

The truth of God is one of his perfections, great- 
ly insisted upon in Scripture, and an essential part of 
natural religion. It is inseparable from infinite per- 
fection ; for any departure from truth must be con- 
sidered as arising from weakness or necessity. 
What end could be served to a self-sufficient and 
all-sufficient being by falsehood or deception ? 

Goodness in God is a disposition to communi- 
cate happiness to others. lh:s is easily under- 
stood. The creation is a proof of it — Natural and 



48 LECTURES ON 

moral evil no just objection to it, because of the 
preponderancy of happiness. 

Merc)^5 as distmguished from goodness or be- 
fiignity, is his being of a placal^le nature — Ready 
to forgive the guilty, or to remit deserved pu- 
nishment. It has been disputed how far mercy or 
placability is discoverable by reason. It is not 
mercy or forgiveness, unless it would have been 
just at the same time to have punished. There are 
but two ways by which men froni reason may in- 
fer the attribute of mercy to belong to the Deity. 
(1) Because we ourselves are sensible of this dis- 
position, and see in it a peculiar beaut}^ (2.) From 
the forbearance of Providence, that sinners are not 
immediately overtaken with punishment, but have 
space given them to repent. — Yet as all the con- 
clusions drawn from these pM:'inciples must be 
vague and general, the expectations of the guilty, 
founded upon them, must be very uncertain. We 
must conclude therefore, that however stable a 
foundation there is for the other attributes of God 
in nature and reason, the w^ay in which, and the 
terms on which^he will shew mercy, can be learn- 
ed from Revelation only. 

Having considered the being and perfections of 
God, w^e proceed to our duty to him. 

This maybe considered in two views, as gene- 
ral and special. 1- By the fii-st I understand our 
duty to obey him and submit to him in all things* 
This you see ittcludes every branch of moral duty 
to our neighbour and ourselves, as well as to God, 
and so the particulai' parts of it will be considered 
afterwards. But in tliis place, considering e^^ery 
good action .as^a act of <dbedieiice to^ad, wie mli 



3IORAL PHILOSOPHY. 49 

a little attend to the divine sovereignty, and the 
foundation of it. 

In sjyeaking of the foundation of virtue, I took 
in a sense of dependence and subjection to God. — 
But as men are not to be deterred from bold inqui- 
ries, a further question is raised by some — what 
is properly the foundation of the divine dominion ? 
(1) Some found it directly upon Omnipotence. It 
is impossible to resist his power. This seems to 
lay us under a necessity, rather than to convince 
us of duty. We ought,however, to think and speak 
of this subject with reverence, and certainly Om- 
nipotence seems to oblige us to actual, if it should 
not bring us to willing obedience. It is somewhat 
remarkable, that in the book of Job, composed on 
purpose to resolve some difficulties in providence, 
where God is brought in as speaking himself out 
of the whirlwind, he makes use of no other argu- 
ment than his tremendous majesty and irresistible 
power. Yet to rest the matter wholly upon this, 
seems much the same as founding virtue on mere 
will ;— therefore (2) some found the divine domi- 
nion on his infinite excellence, they say it is the 
law of reason that the wisest should rule, and there- 
fore that infinite perfection is erititled to universal 
sway. Even this, taken separate and alone, does 
not seem wholly to satisfy the mind. If one per- 
son is wiser than another, it seems reasonable that 
the other should learn of him and imitate him ; 
but it scarcely seems a sufficient reason tlmt the 
first should have absolute authority. Butperliaps 
the w^eakness of the argument, taken in this view, 
may arise from the inconsiderable difference be- 
tween man and man, when compai'ed to the su- 



50 LECTURES ON 

periority of universal and unchangeable perfection* 
(3.) Some found it upon creation. They say, that 
God has an absolute property in all his creatures, 
he may therefore do what he will w^ith his own. 
This no doubt, goes a good way, and carries con- 
siderable force with it to the mind, the rather that, 
as you will afterwards see, it is something similai' 
to this in us that lays the foundation of our m^ost 
perfect rights, viz. That the product of our own 
industry is properly at our own disposal. 

As upon the foundation of virtue I thought it 
necessary to unite the principles of different waiters, 
so upon this subject, I think that all the three par- 
ticulars mentioned ought to be admitted, as the 
grounds of the divine dominion. Omnipotence, 
infinite excellence, and the original production 
and continual preservation of all creatures. 

2. Our duty to God may be considered more 
specially, as it points out the duties we owe im- 
mediately to himself. 

These may be divided into internal and exter- 
nal. — 1st, The internal are all included under the 
three following, love, fear, and trust. 

The love of God, which is the first and great 
duty both of natural and revealed religion, may be 
explained in a larger and more popular, or in a 
more precise and stricter way. 

In the first, love may be resolved into the four 
following acts, (1) esteem, (2) gratitude, (3) 
benevolence, (4) desire. 

These four will be found inseparable from true 
love ; and it is pretty much in the same order, that 
the acts succeed one another. Love is founded on 
esteem, on the real or supposed good qualities of. 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. " 51 

the object. You can no more love that which you 
you despise, than that which you hate. Gratitude 
is also inseparable from it, to have a lively sense 
of favours received, and to esteem them for the 
sake of the person from whom they came. Benevo- 
lence, or rejoicing in the happmess and wishing 
well to the object. And lastly, a desire of a place 
in his esteem. Whatever we love, we desire to 
possess, as far as it is suited to our faculties. 

The stricter and more precise method of con- 
sidering the love of God, is to divide it into two 
branches, benevolence and desire. And indeed 
our affections to God seem to be capable of the 
same division as our aifection to our fellow-crea- 
tures, benevolent and selfish. I think it undeni- 
able, that there is a disinterested love of God, 
which terminates directly upon himself, without 
any immediate view to our own happiness — as 
well as a discovery of our great interest in his fa- 
vour. 

The second great duty to God is fear ; but 
here we must carefully distinguish this affection 
from one which bears the name, and is different 
from it — at least in a moral view it is altogether 
opposite. — Dutiful fear is what may be otherwise 
called veneration, and hath for its object the infi- 
nity of the divine perfection in generpJ, but par- 
ticularly his majesty and greatness. The other is 
merely a fear of evil or punishment from him : 
these are called sometimes a filial and a servile fear.' 
The first increases, as men improve in moral ex- 
cellence, and the other is destroyed. Perfect love 
casteth out fear. Perhaps, however opposite, as 
they have the same name, they may be said to be 



52 LECTURES ON 

the same natural alFection, only as it takes place in 
innocent or holy, and in guilty creatures. The 
same majesty of God, which produces veneration 
in the upright, produces horror and apprehension 
of punishment in the guilty. 

The third great duty is trust. This is a con- 
tinual dependence on God for every thing we need, 
together with an approbation of, and absolute re- 
signation to his providence. 

2. The external duties to God I shall briefly 
pass over, being only, all proper and natural ex- 
pressions of the internal sentiments. 

It may be proper, however, to take notice in 
general of the worship due to God, that whether 
we consider the nature of things, or the universal 
practice of mankind, in all ages, worship, and that 
not only private, but public and social worship, is 
a duty of natural religion. 

Some of the enemies of revealed religion have 
spoken with great virulence against this, as un- 
reasonable, and even dishonourable to the Divine 
Being. The substance of what they say is this, 
that as it would be no part of the cliaracter of an 
eminent and good man, to desire and take plea- 
sure in others praising him, and recounting his 
good qurJities, so it is absurd to suppose, that the 
Supreme Being is pleased with incense^ sacrifices 
and praises. But it ought to be observed, that he 
does not require these acts and exercises as any 
gratification to himself, but as in themselves just 
and necessar}^, and suited to the relation we stand 
in to him, and useful for forming our temper and 
universal practice. We ought also to remember, 
that we must not immediatelv and without dis- 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. S3 

crimination, reason from what would be praise and 
blame-worthy among men, to what would be just 
or unjust in God, because the circumstances are 
very different. Besides, though for any man to 
desire the applause of his fellow-creatures, or be 
pleased with adulation, would be a mean and con- 
temptible character, because indeed there is such 
unspeakable imperfection in the best of men, yet 
Mdien any duty or sentiment is fully and manifest- 
ly due from man to man, there is nothing impro- 
per or dishonourable in requiring or expecting it. 
Thus a parent requires respect and submission 
from his children, a master from his servants; and 
though the injury is merely personal, he thinks 
himself entitled to punish every expression of con- 
tempt or disregard. Again, every man w^ho has 
bestowed signal favours upon another expects to 
see evidence of a grateful and sensible mind, and 
severely condemns every sentiment or action that 
indicates a contrar}^ disposition. 

On the whole, then, we see that if the worship 
of God be what is due from us to him, in conse- 
quence of the relation we stand m to him, it is 
proper and necessary that he should require it. To 
honour God is to honour supreme excellence ; for 
him not to expect and demand it, would be to 
deny himself. 

One other difficulty I shall touch upon a little. 
It respects the duty of prayer ; ai:Mi the objections 
lie equally against it on the footing of natural re- 
ligion and revealed. The objections are two. ( 1. ) 
Why does God, who perfectly knows all our wants, 
require and expect prayer before he will supply 
them? To this I v/ouid'answer, that he supplier 



54 LECTURES ON 

great multitudes of our wants without our asking 
it ; and as to his requiring the duty of prayer, I 
say the same thing as of worship in general ; it is 
reasonable and necessary to express, and to in- 
crease upon our minds, a sense of dependance, 
and thereby lay us under an obligation of properly 
improving what we receive, (2.) The other obli- 
gation is with regard to the force or efficacy of 
prayer. Why, it is said, should we pray, when the 
whole system of Divine Providence is fixed and 
unalterable ? Can w^e possibly suppose that God 
will change his purposes, from a regard to our 
cries or tears ? To this some answer no otherwise 
than as before, that without having any effect upon 
the event, it has only an effect upon our minds, 
in bringing us to a right temper. Dr. Leechman 
of Glasgow, in his discourse on prayer, makes no 
other answer to this difficulty. But I think, to rest 
it here, and admit that it has no influence in the 
way of causality upon the event, would in a great 
measure break the force and fervency of prayer. 
I would therefore say further, that prayer has a 
real efficacy on the event, and just as much as any 
other second cause. The objection arises from 
going beyond our depth, and reasoning from the 
unchangeable purpose of God to human actions, 
which is always unjust and fallacious. — However 
unable we may be to explain it, notwithstanding 
the fixed plan of Providence, there is a real influ- 
ence of second causes, both natural and moral, and 
I apprehend the connexion between cause and ef- 
fect is simiku- in bctii cases. If it is fixed from 
eternity that there sb^ll be a plentiful crop upon 
fv certain field, I kno\^ that nothing w^hatsoever 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 55 

can prevent it, if otherwise, the efforts of the 
whole creation cannot produce it ; yet I know as 
certainly, that, hypothetical ly, if it is not ploughed 
and sown, there will be no grain upon it, and that 
if it be properly manured and dressed, it will pro- 
bably be fruitful. Thus, in moral matters, prayer 
has as real an influence in procuring the blessing, 
as ploughing and sowing has in procuring the crop ; 
and it is as consistent with the established order of 
nature and the certainty of events in the one case, 
as in the other: for this reason the stoical fate of 
old was called the ignava ratio of the stoics, as 
they sometimes made use of the above fallacious 
reasoning. 



LECTURE VIII. 

2. WE come now to our duty to man. 
This may be reduced to a short sum, by ascen- 
ding to its principle. Love to others, sincere 
and active, is the sum of our duty. 

Benevolence, I formerly observed, ought not to 
be considered as the whole of virtue, but it cer- 
tainly is the principle and sum of that branch of 
duty which regards others. 

We may distinguish between (1) particular 
kind affection, and (2) a calm and deliberate good- 
will to all. — The particular kind affections, as to 
family, friends, country, seem to be implanted by 
nature, to strengthen the general principle, for it 
is only or chiefly by doing good to those we are 
particularly related to, that we can promote the 
general happiness* 



56 LECTURES ON 

Particular kind affections should be restrained 
and directed by a calm good- will to alL Where- 
ver our attachments to private persons prevent 
a greater good, they become irregulai^ and exces- 
sive. 

Some think that a calm and settled good will to 
others is an improvement of the pailicular affec- 
tions, and arises from the more narrow to the 
more extensive; from family, friends, country, 
to all our fellow-creatures. But it seems more 
reasonable to say, that the general affection is a 
dictate of our conscience of a superior kind* If 
it were only an increase and extension of the pri- 
vate affection, it would grow more weak, as the 
distance from ourselves increased, whereas in fact 
the more enlai'ged affections are intended to be 
more powerful than the confined. 

When we are speaking of kind affections, it 
v/iil not be improper to observe that some unbe- 
lievers have objected against the gospel, that it 
does not recommend private friendship and the 
love of our country. But if fairly considered, as 
the Scripture, both by example and precept, re- 
commends all particular affections, so it is to its 
honor that it sets the love of mankind above them 
every one, and by so much insisting on the for- 
giveness of injuries and the love of enemies, it has 
carried benevolence to its greatest perfection. The 
parable of the Samaritan in answer to the quesr 
tion, who is my neighbour? is one of the greatest 
beauties in moral painting any where to be seen. 

The love of our country, to be sure, is a noble 
and enlarged affection ; and those who have sacri- 
ficed private ease and family relations to it, have 



IvIORAi: PHILOSOPHY. aT 

become illustrious; yet the love of mankind is 
still greatly superior. Sometimes attachment to 
country appears in a littleness of mind, thinking 
all other nations inferior, and foolislily believing 
that knowledge, virtue and valour are all confined 
to themselves. As the Romans long ago made 
the Punica fides to mean deceit, so there are not 
wanting among us those ^dio think that all the 
French are mterested, treacherous and cowardly. 

On the great law of love to others, I shall orJy 
say further, that it ought to have for its object their 
greatest and best interest, and therefore implies 
wishing and doing them good in soul and body. 

It is necessary now to descend to the applica-^ 
tion of this principle to particular duties, and to 
examine what are the rights or claims that one 
man has upon another. Rights and obligations 
are corelative terms. Whatever others have a 
just right or title to claim from me, that is my 
duty, or what I am obliged to do to them. 

Right in general may be reduced, as to its 
source, to the supreme law of moral duty; for 
whatever men are in duty obliged to do, that they 
have a claim to, and other men are considered. as 
under an obligation to permit them. Again, as 
our own happiness is a la^vful object or end, we 
are supposed to have eacha right to prosecute this; 
but as our prosecutions may interfere, we limit 
each other's rights, and a man i^ said to have a 
right or power to promote his own happiness on- 
ly by those means which ai^e not in themselves 
criminal or injurious to others. 

Rights may be divided or classed in several 
different ways ; an attention to all of which is of 
- . F 2 



58 LECTURES ON 

use on this subject. Rights may be (1) natural 
or acquired. Natural rights are such as are es- 
sential to man, and universal — ^acquired are those 
that are the fruits of Industrie the effects of acci- 
dent or conquest. A man has a natural right to 
act for his own preservation, and to defend him- 
self from injury, but not a natural right to domi- 
neer, to riches (comparatively speaking) or to any 
particular office in a constituted state. 

(2.) Rights are considered as perfect and im- 
perfect. Those are called perfect rights which 
can be cleai^ly ascertained in their circumstances, 
and which we may make use of force to obtain, 
when they are denied us. Imperfect rights are 
such as w^e may demand, and others oviglrt to give 
us, yet we have no title to compel them. Self- 
preservation is a perfect right, but to have a grate- 
ful return for a favour is not a perfect right. 

All the duties of justice are founded on the per- 
fect rights ; those of mercy generally on the imper- 
fect rights. 

The violation of an imperfect right is often as 
great an act of immorality as that of a perfect right. 
It is often as immoral, or more so, to refuse to 
supply the necessitous, or to do it sparingly, as to 
commit a small injury against a man's person or 
fortune. Yet the last is the breach of a perfect 
right, and the other of an imperfect. 

Human law s reach only, in ordinary cases, to the 
perfect rights. Sometimes imperfect rights, by 
being carried far, become perfect, as humanity 
and gentleness in a pai^ent to a child may be so 
grossly violated, as to warrant tlie interposition of 
human authority. 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 59 

(3.) Rights are alienable and unalienable. The 
first we may, according to justice and prudence, 
surrender or give up by our own act ; the others 
we may not. A man may give away his own goods, 
lands, money. There are several things which he 
cannot give away, as a right over his own know- 
ledge, thoughts, &c. Others, which he ought not, 
as aright to judge for himself in all matters of re- 
ligion, his right to self-p. eservation, provision, &c. 
Some say that liberty is unalienable, and that those 
who have even given it away may lawfully re- 
sume it. 

The distinction between rights as alienable and 
unalienable is very different from that of natural 
and acquired. Many of the rights w^hich are strict- 
ly natural and universal, may be alienated in a 
state of society for the good of the whole, as well 
as of private persons; as for example, the right of 
self-defence ; this is in a great measure given up 
in a state of civil government into the hands of 
the public — and the right of doing justice to our- 
selves or to others in matters of property is whoU 
ly given up. 

(4.) Rights may be considered as they differ 
with regard to their object. 1. Rights we have 
over our own persons and actions. This class is 
called liberty. 2. Rights over things or goods 
which belong to us. This is called property. 3. 
Rights over the persons and actions of other 
men. This is called authority. 4. Rights in the 
things which are the property of others, which 
are of several sorts. 

When we come to the second great division of 
moral philosophy, politics, the above distinctions 



60 LECTtTRES ON 

will be more fully explained — at present it is suf- 
ficient to point at them, in order to show what are 
the great lines of duty from man to man. 

Our duty to others, therefore, may be all com- 
prehended in these two particulars, justice and 
mercy. - 

Justice consists in giving or permitting others to 
enjoy whatever they have a perfect right to — and 
making such an use of opr own rights as not to 
encroach upon the rights of others. There is one 
writer, David Hume, w^ho has derided the duty of 
justice, resolving it wholly into power and conve- 
* niency, and has affirmed that property is common, 
than which nothing can be more contrary to reason ; 
for if there is any thing clear as a dictate of reason, 
it is, that there are many rights which men seve-- 
rally possess, which others ought not to violate. 
The foundation of property in goods, I wil lafter- 
wards show you, is plainly laid in the social state. 

Another virtue which tliis author ridicules is 
chastity. This however will be found to be in- 
eluded in justice, and to be found in the senti- 
ments of all nations, and to have the clearest foun- 
dation both in nature and public utility. 

Mercy is the other great branch of our duty to 
man, and is the exercise of the benevolent princi- 
ple in general, and of the several particular kind 
affections. Its acts, generally speaking, belong to^ 
the class of imperfect rights, which are strongly 
binding upon the conscience, and absolutely ne- 
cessary to the subsistence of human society ; yet 
such as cannot be enforced with rigor and precision 
by human laws. 

Mercy may be generally explained by a readi- 



HORAL PHILOSOPHY. 61 

ness to do all the good offices to others that they 
stand in need of, and are in our power, unless they 
are opposed to some perfect right, or an imperfect 
one of greater moment. 



LECTURE IX. 

3. THE third class of moral duties is what con- 
tains our duty to ourselves. 

This branch of duty is as real and as much found- 
ed in the moral principle, as any of the former — 
Conscience as clearly testifies the evil of neglect- 
ing it — and vicious conduct in this respect does 
generally lead us directly not only to misery, but 
to sham.e. 

We may, I think, divide our duties to our- 
selves into two heads, which will be both distinct 
and comprehensive. (1,) Self-government. (2.) 
Self-interest. 

The first of these is to keep our thoughts, de- 
sires and affections, in due moderation. If it be 
asked w^hat is due moderation ? I answer, it may be 
discovered tliree ways. (1.) When the indulgence 
interferes with our duty to God, (2.) To ourselves, 
and (3.) to our neighbour. 

When our thoughts or desires are such as to 
be contrary to the love, fear, or trust we owe to ^ 
God, then they are to be restrained and- brought 
into subjection — Thus are generated the virtues o£ 
humility J contentment j patience^ and such as are 
allied to them. 

When our thoughts and inward temper are 
such as to be any way injurious to others, they 



62 LECTURES ON 

must be governed and restrained ; hence arises the 
obligation to guard against all the immoral pas- 
sions, which will produce meekness and compo- 
sure of spirit. 

And when we have got but a little experience, 
we shall speedily find that an excessive indulgence 
of any passion, love^ hatred, anger, fi^^y discom- 
poses us exceedingly, and is an evil instead of a 
blessing. We shall therefore perceive the necessi- 
ty of continence, self-denial, fortitude, restraint, 
and moderation in every thing, how good soever. 
(2.) The other general branch of duty to ourselves 
may be called self-interest. This, taking in natu- 
ral religion, includes our relation to the Divine 
Being, and attending particularly to that of procu-^ 
ring his favour. Therefore it is a prime part of 
our duty to ourselves, to guard against any thing 
that may be hurtful to our moral character or re- 
ligious hopes. 

2. We ought to be active and diligent in ac- 
quiring every thing necessary for life and comfort. 
Most of our duties to ourselves resemble the du- 
ties of justice and mercy to others. If there are ^i 
certain offices due to them, and if they have rights | 
and claims in consequence of their state and rela- | 
tions, the same is the case with ourselves. We are 
therefore to take all proper methods to preserve 
and acquire the goods both of mind and body. To 
acquire knowledge, to preserve health, reputation, 
possessions. 

The whole must be kept within some limits ; 
chiefly we must guard against interfering with the 
rights of others. 

It will be proper, before concluding this part 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 63 

of the subject, to take notice of the opinions of the 
ancients, particularly their enumeration of what are 
called the cardinal virtues. 

Their cardinal virtues were justice^ temperance^ 
prudence and Jbrtitude. Justice included the whole 
of our duty to our neighbour. Humanity or be- 
nevolence you see is kept out of view, though a 
virtue of the first class ; but all its exercises are 
with them ranked under the heads of justice ; tem- 
perance was by them considered as much more 
extensive, than being moderate in the use of meats 
and drink, to which the English word is chiefly 
confined. The Egkrateia of the Greeks signified, 
not only abstinence in meats and drink, but con- 
tinence or purity, and a moderation of all our de- 
sires, of whatever kind, of fame and riches, as well 
as pleasures. Prudence, even in the way they 
generally explain it, seems scarcely to be a moral, 
or so much as a natural quality. Prudence, they 
say, is taking the wisest course to obtain some good 
end. The placing this among the cardinal virtues 
will show how matters stood among them. Great 
parts or talents were in high esteem. They did 
not very fully distinguish between a good man 
and a great man. Prudence seems rather an em- 
bellishment of an illustrious character, than a mo- 
ral virtue. Another reason why Prudence seems 
to have held such a place among the ancients was, 
that their chief foundation for virtue was interest, 
or what will produce happiness. The inquiry up- 
on this subject was, what is the summum bonum. 
Now to this, prudence is very necessary. Agree- 
ably to all this, they commonly called the virtu- 
ous man, the wise man^ and he was always an hero. 



64 LECTURES ON 

Fortitude is easily understood, and may be 
considered in two lights, as active and passive, 
which gives the two great virtues of patience and 
valour. 

One of the most remarkable qualities in morals, 
among the ancents was the debate upon the Stoi- 
cal position, that pain is no evil, nor pleasure-any 
good. This arises from comparing external things 
with the temper of the mind, when it appears with- 
out doubt that the latter is of much more conse- 
quence to happiness than the former. They used 
to reason thus,- — Outward possessions, when be- 
stowed upon a bad man, make hhn no better, but 
w^orse, and finally more miserable. How then can 
tliese be goods in themselves, which become good 
or evil, according to the sta:te of him that uses 
them. They were therefore called the things in- 
different. There was something strained and ex- 
travagant in some of their writings, and perhaps 
ostentatious, yet a great deal of true and just rea- 
soning. The most beautiful piece of antiquity, 
in the moral way, is the Tablature of Cebes* 

Let us now recapitulate what we have gone 
through, and then add some observations or co- 
rollaries on the morality of actions. We have 
considered, 

1. The nature of man. 

2. The nature, foundation, and obligation of 
virtue. 

3. Have given a sort of general analysis of the 
moral laws, as pointing out our duty to God, to our 
neighbour, and ourselves. 

We must now consider all morality in general 
as conformity to a law. We have seen above 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. ' 65 

whence this law is collected, and derives its au- 
thority. Men may differ, not only as to the founda- 
tion, but as to the import or meaning of the law 
in some particulai^s, but it is always supposed that 
the law exists. 

The morality of actions may be considered in 
two diiferent lights, but these very nearly related 
to each other. ( 1) As they areranked and disposed 
of by the law^ itself. (2) in the conformity or oppo- 
sition of the actions to the law. 

Under the first view an action is either command^ 
ed. forbidden, or permitted. 

Commanded duties oblige absolutely, and as 
casuists used to say, semper non vero ad semper^ 
that is to say, they are obligatory upon all persons, 
at the seasons that are proper for them, but not 
vipon every person at every time ; because then 
there could be but one moral duty ; all men are 
obliged to woi^ship God, but this only at certain 
times, other duties have also their place and 
season. 

Prohibitions oblige semper et . ad semper^ all 
persons at all times. — We must not lie — this obli- 
ges every man at every moment, because no time 
dr circumstances can make it lawful. 

On permission we may observe several things. 

1. There is (as some say,) a two-fold permis- 
sion, the one full and absolute, which not only 
gives us a right to certain things with mipunity, 
but implies a positive approbation of the legislator, 
and the other implies only that the action is left at 
large, being neither commanded nor forbidden. 

2. Permission in natural law^s always implies 
the approbation of the legislator, and whatever is 

G 



66 LECTURES ox 

done in consequence of it, is innocently done, 
for God and conscience do not permit, or pass un- 
condemned, any bad action. 

3. It is otherwise in human laws, if they leave 
any action open, it may be done with impunity, 
and yet by no means with approbation. I may 
have a right by human laws to say things in a co- 
%'ered or couched manner, which yet may carry 
in them the highest degree of malignity. 

4. The truth is, when we consider the morali- 
ty of action in a strict or proper manner, the whole 
class of permitted actions vanishes. They become 
by their intention and application either good or 
bad. 

Considering actions in their jconformity to the 
laws, a distinction arises similar to the former, in- 
to good or just, bad and indifferent. 

A good action must be wholly conformable to 
the law in its substance, and in all its circumstan- 
ces. It is not enough that it be materially good, 
the time must be proper, and the intention lauda- 
ble. 

A bad action is that, which, either in substance 
er in any circumstance, is contrary to the law. 

In consequence of this, strictly and properly 
speaking, all truly good or just actions are equally 
so, arising from a perfect conformity to the law, 
as all straight lines ai^e equally straight, but all bad 
actions are not equally bad, as lines may be bent 
in a difterent degree from the straight direction. 

Indifferent actions, if there are any truly such, 
are those that are permitted, and neither command- 
ed nor forbidden by the law, but when we consi- 
der the spirit and principles of true morality, we I 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY, 67 

shall find no actions wholly mdifFerent, because we 
are under an obligation to promote the happiness 
of ourselves and others, to which every action 
may be applied immediately or remotely ; and 
subjection to the Divine will may make a part 
of our design, in doing or forbearing any thing 
whatever. 

In estimating the morality of actions several 
circumstances must be considered, (1) the good 
done (2) the principle from which it flows, — self- 
interest of the contracted kind, benevolence, or 
hope of rewards (3) The hindrances or opposition 
that must be surmounted, as interest^ inclination^ 
difficulty. An objection seems to arise from thi^, 
not easily solved. If an action is the more virtu- 
ous, the more opposition, internal and external, 
that is overcome, then the longer a man has had 
the habit of virtue, and the more completely it is 
formed, the less merit in his actions. It seems al- 
so to take away all moral excellence from the Dei- 
ty, who cannot be supposed to have the least op- 
position to encounter, either from within or with* 
out. This objection cannot be easily removed, but 
by saying, that the opposition is in no other re- 
spect an evidence of the good moral temper, but 
as it shows the strength of that inclination that 
overcomes it, and therefore, when a moral habit 
is so strong as to overcome and annihilate all oppo- 
sition, it is so much the more excellent. 

An action, good in itself, may be made criminal 
by an evil intention. 

But no action, in itself evil, can be made law-^ 
ful or laudable by a good intention. 

A man is obliged to follow the dictates of con 



68 LECTURES ON 

science : yet a mistaken conscience does not whol- 
ly absolve from guilt, because he ought to have 
been at more pains to obtain information. 

An action is not virtuous in proportion to its 
opposite being vicious. It is no high degree of vir- 
tue to love our offspring or provide for a family ; but 
to neglect either is exceedingly vicious. 

One phenomenon in human nature, neai'ly con- 
nected with the moral feelings, has been particular- 
ly considered by some writers, viz. that there is 
such a disposition in the generality of men to croud 
to see objects of distress, as an extraordinar}'- pub- 
lic execution. What is the desire that prompts 
to it ? Is the sight of misery a pleasant feeling ? 
Some resolve it merely into curiosity, which they 
consider as a natural and original impression. But 
there seems to be something in it different from 
novelty. Others say it arises from benevolence, 
and is an exercise of compassion, and that we have 
a strong natural impulse to the affection of pity, 
and really feel a pleasure in indulging it. But 
though every well disposed mind is highly sus- 
ceptible of pity, at least of all the benevolence 
and help that pity suggests when the object pre- 
sents itself, we can scarcely say that the feeling is 
pleasant, or that we have a desire after such objects, 
in order to the gratification. 

They v/ho reason on the selfish scheme, as usual, 
resolve ail into private interest ; they say we de- 
light to see objects of distr^ss^ because it gives 
us a secret satisfj.ction in reflecting upon our own 
different situation. I believe there is such a satis- 
faction in narrow and contracted minds ; but to 
those tolerably disposed it has an opposite effect ; 



SiORAij PHILOSOPHY. 69 

it makes them nither consider the caiamiiies which 
they themselves are subject to, than these from 
which they are free. 

Perhaps it would be best to take more than one 
principle to account for this eifect — curiosity 
must make a part, and probably humanity and 
compassion also contribute to it. It seems to be_ 
thought som.e little alleviation to the sufferer's 
misery when others pity iiim—Yet prudent per- 
sons, knowing how unavailing this pity is, often 
choose to be absent. 

Sympathy is a particular affection in aid of be 
nevolence — Yet like ail other private affections, 
^vhen it is not moderated, it prevents its own ef 
feet — One deeply aftected with the viev/ of an ob- 
ject of distress,, is often thereby incapacitated to as- 
sist him. 

Another question is sQiXLetimes subjoined to the 
above, why men have pleasure in seeing Tragedj , 
v»*hich is a striking- representation of a melancholy 
catastrophe. As far as the subject differs from, co- 
medy, it may be accounted for on the sameprin^ 
eiples with the desire to see objects of distress- 
But one powerful principle leads both to Come- 
dy and Tragedy — ^a pleasure in the imitative arts, 
an exact portrait of any object whatever gives the 
highest pleasure, even though the object itseh" were 
originally terrible or disgusting. 

We see plainly, that an indulgence of the plea- 
sure given by a fine performanee is what crouds 
the theatre. Unhappily, to give greater pleasure ta 
a corrupt mind, they often invent such scenes, 
and conduct the matter so, as to make the stage 
the greatest enem.y to virtue and good morals. 

G 2 



TO _ m- LECTURES ON 

LECTURE X. 

Of Politics. 

POLITICS contain the principles of social 
union, and the rules of duty in a state of society. — 
This is but another and more complete view of 
the same things, drawn out more fully, and ap- 
plied to paiticular cases. Political law is the au- 
thority of any society stampt upon moral duty. 

The first thing to be considered, in order to 
see upon what principles society is formed, is the 
state immediately previous to the social state. 
This is called the state of nature — Violent and 
unneccessary controversies have been made on that 
subject. Some have denied that any such thing 
ever existed, that since there wxre men, they 
have always been in a social state. And to be 
sure, this is so far true, that in^o example or fact 
could it ever last long. Yet it is impossible to con- 
sider society as a voluntary union of particular per- 
sons, Vv'ithout stipposing those persons in a state 
SQmewhat different, before this union took place — 
There are rights therefore belonging to a state of 
nature, different from those of a social state. 

And distinct societies or states independent, are 
at this moment in a state of nature, or natural li- 
berty, w^ith regard to each other. 

Another famous question has been. Is the state 
of nature as tate of v/ar or peace ? Hobbes, an au- 
thor of considerable note, but of very illiberal sen» 
timents in politics, is a strenuous advocate for a 



HORAL PHILOSOPHY. fl 

state of nature being a state of war* Hutchinson 
and Shafstbury plead strongly, that a state of nature 
is a state of society. However opposite and hos- 
tile their opinions seems to be with regard to each 
other, it seem no hard matter to reconcile them. 
That the principles of our nature lead to society — - 
that our happiness and the improvement of our 
powers are only to be had in society,, is of the most 
undoubted certainty — and that in our nature, as 
it is the work of God, there is a real good-will and 
benevolence to others : but on the other hand, 
that our nature as it is now, when free and hide- 
pendent, is prone to injury, and consequently to 
war, is equally manifest, and that in a state of na- 
tural liberty, there is no other way but force,, for 
preserving security and repelling injury. The in- 
conveniences of the natural state are very many. 

One class of the above-mentioned writers say, 
that nature prompts to society, and the other, that 
necessity and interest obliges to it — both are e» 
qually true. 

Supposing then the state of natural liberty an- 
tecedent to society to be a reality, let us consider 
the perfect and imperfect rights belonging to that 
state, that we may see more distinctly how, and 
why, they differ in a social state. 

The perfect rights in a state of natural liberty, 
are, (1.) a right to life. (2.) A right to employ his 
faculties and industry for his own use. (3.) A 
right to things that are common and necessary, as 
air, water, earth. (4.) A right to personal liber- 
ty. (5.) A power over his own life, not to throw 
it away unnecessarily, but for a good reason. (6, ) 
A right of private judgment in matters of opinion^ 



^2 LECTURES ON | 

(7.) A right to associate, if he so incline, with any i 
person or persons, whom he can persuade (not 
force,— Under this is- contained the right to mar- 
riage. (8.) A right to character, that is to say, in- 
nocence (not fame)— It is easy to perceive that all y 
these rights belong to a state of natural liberty, , 
and that it would be unjust and unequal for any j 
individual to hinder or abridge another in any one , 
of them, without consent, or unless it be in just 
retaliation for injury received. 

The imperfect natural rights are very numerous, 
but they are nearly the same in a state of nature as 
in a state of society, as gratitude, compassion, mu- 
tual good offices — if they will be no injury to the 
person performing them — Indeed they must be 
the same in a natural and in a social state, because 
the very definition of an imperfect right is such 
as you cannot use force to obtain. Now, what 
you ought not to use force to obtain in a state 
of natural liberty, human laws in a well constitu- 
ted state will not give you. 

Society I vvould d-cfine to be an association or 
compact of any number of persons, to deliver up; 
or abridge some part of their natural rights, in or-^ 
der to have the strength of the united body, to 
protect the remaining, and to bestow others. 

Hobbes and some other writers of the former 
age treat with great contempt, this which is ge- 
nerally called the social compact. — -He insists that 
monarchy is the law of nature. Few are of liis 
sentiments now, at least in Britain, yet it is pro- 
per to trace them to the foundation. 

It is to be admitted, that society began first in- 
sensibly by familiesj and almost necessarily. Hence 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. "" 7S 

parental authority was the first law, and perhaps 
it extended for two or three generations in the 
early ages. Though the patrons of monarchy use 
this as an argument, it does not favor their scheme 
— This which they call the patriarchal govern- 
ment, could not extend far; or supposhig it 
could, there would be but one rightful king in all 
the earth, the lineal descendant of Adam^s eldest 
son, not to mention that the very order of succes- 
sion in hereditary right has never been uniform, 
and is but of late settled in the European nations. 

The truth is, though man for wise reasons, af- 
terwards to be noticed, continues longer in a family 
dependance, than other animals, yet in time he 
becomes sui juris, and when their numbers are in- 
creased, when they either continue together, or 
remove and form distinct societies, it is plain that 
there must be supposed an expressed or implied 
contract. 

Some say there is no trace or record of any 
such contract in the beginning of any society. 
But this is no argument at all, for things insepera- 
ble from, and essential to any state, commonly 
take place so insensibly, that their beginning is 
not observed. 

When persons believe themselves, upon the 
whole, rather oppressed than protected in any so- 
ciety, they think they are at liberty, either to re- 
bel against it, or fly from it; which plainly implies 
that their being subject to it arose from a tacit 
consent. 

Besides, in migrations and planting of colonies, 
in all ages, we see evident traces of an original 



LECTURES ON 



contract and consent taken to the principles of ' 
union. 

From this view of society as a vokmtary com- 
pact, results this principle, that men are original- 
ly and by nature equal, and consequently free. 

Liberty either cannot, or ought not to be given 
up in the social state — The end of the union 
should be the protection of liberty, as far as it is ' 
a blessing. The definition of liberty in a consti- 
tuted government, will be afterwards explained. 

Some observe, that few nations or societies in 
the world have had their constitutions formed on 
the principles of liberty : perhaps not one twen- 
tieth of the states that have been established since 
the beginning of the world have been settled upon 
principles altogether favorable to liberty. This | 
is no just argument against natural liberty and ! 
the rights of mankind; for it. is certain, that the i 
public good has always been the real aim of the : 
people in general, in forming and entering into i 
any society. It has also constantly been at least i 
the professed aim of legislators. Therefore the j 
principle seems to have been admitted, only they '^ 
have failed or been disappointed in practice, by 
mistake or deceit. Though perhaps not one twen- 
tieth part of mankind have any tolerable skill in 
the fine arts, it does not follow that there are no ^ 
such arts, or that the principles of them are not j 
founded in nature. I 

Reason teaches natural liberty, and common 
utility recommends it. Some nations have seen 
this more clearly than others, or have more hap- 
pily found the means of establishing it. 

Here perhaps we should consider a little the / 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 



question, whether it is lawful to make men or to 
keep them slaves, without their consent? This 
will fall afterwards to be considered more fully : 
in the mean time, observe that in every state there 
must be some superior and others inferior, and 
it is hard to fix the degree of subjection that may 
fall to the lot of particular persons. Men may be- 
come slaves, or their persons and labour be put 
wholly in the power of others by consent. They 
may also sometimes, in a constituted state, be 
made slaves by force, as a punishment for the com- 
mission of crimes. JBut it is certainly unlawful to 
make inroads upon others, unprovoked, and take 
away their liberty by no better right than superior 
power. 

It has sometimes been doubted, whether it is 
lawful to take away the liberty of others for life, 
even on account of crimes committed. There can 
be no strong reason given against this, except 
that which is supposed to operate in Great Bri- 
tain against making malefactors slaves, that it would 
be unfavorable to rational liberty to see any rank of 
imen in chains. But setting this aside, it seems 
iplain, that if men may forfeit their lives to the 
(Society, they may also forfeit their liberty, which 
lis a less precious blessing. It seems also more 
1 agreeable both to equity and public utility to 
I punish some sort of crimes with hai^d labour, 
than death. Imprisonment for life has been ad- 
raitted and practised by all nations — Some have 
pleaded for making slaves of the barbarous nations, 
that they are actually brought into a more eligible 
state, and have more of the comforts of life, than 
they would have had in their own country. This 



T6 LECTURES ON ,^| 

argument may alleviate, but does not justify the^-^ 
practice. It cannot be called a more eligible state, * 
if less agreeable to themselves. 

Upon the whole, there are many unlawful ways 
of makinf?: slaves, but also some that are lawful — 
And the practice seems to be countenanced in the 
law of Moses, where rules are laid down for their 
treatment, and an estimation of injuries done to|| 
them, different from that of free men. I do not' 
think there lies any necessity on those who found 
men in a state of slavery, to make them free to 
their own ruin. But it is very doubtful whether^ 
any original cause of servitude can be defended, * 
but legal punishment for the commission of 
crimes. Humanity in the manner of treating them 
is manifestly a dictate of reason and nature, and I 
think also of private and public utility, as much 
as of either. 

The next step in opening the principles of the 
socicJ state, is to consider the foundation, estab- 
lishment and extent of Property. Some begin this 
by considering the property of man in general, in ^ 
the inferior creatures. Has he any right to use the r 
lower irrational animals for labour, or food, or ' 
both? ;i 

It is needless to refine too much upon this sub- 
ject. To use them, for labour seems evidently 
lawful, as they are inferior, with strength fitted for 
it, and strength which they could not employ for 
the improvement and cultivation of the earth with- 
out the direction of man. They seem to be to man^ 
some how as the body to the mind. They help 
to produce food for themselves, and so increase 
their number and receive much more sensual plea* ^ 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 7?" 

sure, sharing in all respects with their masters the 
fruit of their toil. 

To use them for food is thus argued to be law- 
ful. — If suffered all to live, they would become 
too numerous, and could not be sustained, so that 
death to many of them in a much worse way must 
be the certain consequence. Further, nature seems 
to dictate the use of them for food in the plainest 
manner, for they are food for one another in a re- 
gular gradation, the insect to the birds and fishes, 
many of them to the beasts, and the smaller to the 
greater, or the tamer to the more rapacious of eve- 
ry order. 

If we take tradition or Revelation for our guide, 
the matter is plain, that God made man lord of the 
works of his hands, and put under him all the 
other creatures. Only it appears that the grant of 
animal food was made no earlier than to Noah, af- 
ter the flood. 

Let us next consider the establishment of pri- 
vate property. Private property is every particu- 
lar person's having a confessed and exclusive 
right to a certain portion of the goods which serve 
for the support and conveniency of life. 

In a very imperfect state of society community 
of goods may subsist in a great degree, and indeed 
its subsisting is one of the surest signs of an, im- 
perfect state of society. Some attempts have been 
made in civilized states to introduce it, but with- 
out any considerable effect, exx:ept in Sparta, the 
constitution of which was very singular. In small 
voluntary societies, especially of the religious 
kind, it may be established, and will continue so 
long as the morals of the society are pure. But 

H 



78 LECTURES ON i 

in civil society folly formed, especially if the state- j 
is at all extensive, or intended to be so, private} 
property is essentially necessaiy , and founded up- ^^ 
on the reason of things and public utility. The i 
reasons of it are (1) without private property no \ 
laws would be sufficieBt to compel universal in- 1 
dustry. There never was such a purity of man- 
ners and zeal for the public, in the individuals of a 
great body, but that many would be idle and sloth- 
ful, and maintain themselves upon the labour of i 
others, j 

2. There is no reason to expect, in the present j 
state of human nature, that there would be a just | 
and equal distribution to every one according to ! 
his necessity, nor any room for distinction accord- j 
ing to merit. j 

3. There would be no place for the exercise afj 
some of the noblest affections of the human mind, \ 
as charity, compassion, beneficence, &c. ] 

4. Little or no incitement to the active virtqes, i 
labour, ingenuity, bravery, patience, &c. | 

Some have laid down schemes for making pro- 
perty common, as Sir Thomas Moore in his Utd- I 
pia ; but in general they are chimerical and im- \ 
practicable. There is no instance in fact where t 
any state that m.ade a figure in the social life had j 
their goods wholly in common. Sparta had the i 
most of it, but it was a very small state, and limit- j 
ed in its views; besides there was something so 
singular in the whole constitution of the Spartan 
government, that its subsisting so long, remains 
a phenomenon for politicians and reasoners yet to 
acccunt for. 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 79 

Supposing private property to be essential, or 
at least useful in the social state, the next question 
is, how does this property take its rise, or by what 
iways is it acquired. 

! The original ways of acquiring property may 
be reduced to these two (1) Prior occupation (2) 
■our own industry. 

I As to the first of these, it mav be analysed thus. 
Of the things that lay in common for the use of 
mian, I have a right to take what is conveiiient for 
iiT),e, and after I have taken it, no body can have a 
ibetter right, nor consequently any title to take it 
:from me. 

But many questions difficult to be resolved 
■arise from the application of this principle. How 
far does this right extend? Must I take only 
Hvhat is sufficient for the present moment, or may 
J provide for future necessities and enjoyment. 
In vacant lands must I ta,ke only what ^ and my 
^present followers can sufficiently occupy, or may 
f touch a continent and call it mine, though I 
Jshall not be able to fill it in many ages. I answer, 
.jcommon utility must be the rule in all these cases, 
and any thing m.ore particular must be reserved 
ftiil we come to the law of nations. 
[ Some say that the vt^atgr in large bays and ri- 
^vers ought to be comm.on to all,^ because it is 
-inexhaustible, and one's using it cannot waste or 
33poil it for the use of others. But the security 
pf societies will point out the measure of proper- 
tf that must be in ail those things. 
F, The extent or object of property contains three 
jparticulars ( 1) a right to the fullest use. Whate« 
i^^er is a person's property, he has a right to do 



80 LECTURES ON 

with it as he pleases, with this single exception, 
if it may be called so, that he may not use it to 
the injury of others. Full property has no other 
exception, unless you call this an exception, that 
if any man would wantonly destroy the fruits of 
the earth, or his habitation ; in that case though 
they were his own, people would hinder him, as 
supposing him to be mad, and deprive him not 
only of that liberty, but of all others. 

2. Property implies aright of exclusion. We 
may hinder others from any way intermeddling 
with what is our property. This seems essential 
to the idea. Giving a full right to one, implies 
that others have none. 

3. It implies a power to alienate. That is to 
say, a right of alteration, commutation, donation, 
during life, and disposal at death. Thus proper- 
ty is said to be perpetual. 

There are certain things called by Civilians Res 
nullius, such as temxpies, public edifices, g^tes, 
and walls of cities, &c. Temples used to be said 
to be given to God, and in the laws of civilized 
states, attention is paid to this circumstance. But 
as to the property or use, the case of them, and of 
all the other things mentioned, is very clear. 
They are under the inspection of the magistrate, 
or such persons as represent the community, and 
are by them kept for common use. 



LECTURE XI. 

IN the social life in general we may consider, 
(1) domestic, (2) civil society. 



M0:KA1 PlilLOSOPHY. Si 

The first of these we must consider as imply- 
ing and made up of several relations, the chief of 
which are (1) the relation of miarriage, (2) that 
of parents and children, (3) that of master and 
^^ervant. 

In marriage we ought to observe, that though all 
)erieatures may be said to be propagated in a M^ay 
m a great degree similar, yet there is something 
peculiarly distinguished, dignified ahd solemn, in 
marriage among men. This distinction is neces- 
sary, and founded in reason and nature. 

HumAan creatures at their birth ai'C in a state 
Jweaker and more helpless than any other animals, 
^hey also arrive mxuch more slowly at maturity, 
and need by far most assistance and cultivation. 
Therefore a particular union of the parents is ab« 
^soiutely necessary, and that upon such povv^erful 
principles as will secure their common care. Mar- 
riage is a relation expressly founded upon this 
necessity, and must be so conducted as to ascer- 
uain the property of the offspring, and to promise 
dve most assiduous, prudent and extensive care. 

This is the foundation of marriage drawn from 
die public good. But we ought also to observe, 
:hat man is manifestly superior in dignity to the 
3ther animals, and it was intended that all his en- 
oyments, and even his indulgence of instinctive 
propensities, should be of a more exalted and ra- 
:ioiial kmd than theirs. Therefore the propensi- 
iLy of the sexes to one another is iiot oniy reined 
pi by modesty, but is so ordered as to require 
chat reason and friendship, and some of the no- 
blest affections, should have place. And it is cer-^ 
rain that they have, if not a more violent, at least 

H 2 



82 LECTURES ON it 

a more lasting and uniform influence, in the mar- ' 
ried state, than sensual desire. * . 

It is further observed by moral writers, that : 
though beauty and personal attraction may be ( 
considered as the first motives, yet these are al- j 
ways supposed to be indications of something ex- ' 
cellent in the temper within. So that even love j 
of beauty, in man, is an attachment to moral ex- ( 
cellence. Let a person attend with seriousness, j 
and he will find that the utmost perfection of form j 
in an idiot, or one thoroughly known to be of a j 
very bad temper, is really no object of desire. ■, 
Though in those who are little known, it is apt i 
to prejudice the ignorant and unwary to j.udge j 
favourably of the person. \ 

The particulars which reason and nature point i 
out, relating to the marriage contract, ai'C as fol- 
low: 

1. That it be between one man and one woman. 
Polygamy is condemned by nature; for it is found 
that the males born are to the females, as 13 to 
12, or as some say, as 20 to 19, the overplus be- 
ing to supply the greater waste of the male part of 

:;tlie species by war and dangerous occupations, 
hard labour, and travelling by land and sea. 

2. The fundamental and essential part of the 
contract is fidelity and chastity. This must im- 
mediately appeal^ to be essential to the purpose of 
the union. Some writers say that this is especial- * 
Ay binding upon the woman, in order to ascertain 
the offspring ; but every body must see the absur- 
dity of any distinction, because the contract would 
neither be equal, nor likely to be steadily obser- 
ved, if it w^ere not mutual. Besides, as a late au- 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 8S 

thor has well observed, if chastity be a female 
virtue, how can men be unchaste without infring- 
ing upon it ? 

3. The contract should be for life — otherwise 
it would be short, uncertain, and mutual love and 
industry greatly weakened. 

4. If superiority and authority be given to the 
man, it should be used with so much gentleness 
and love as to make it a state of as great equality 
as possible. Hutchinson and some other writers 
say there should be no superiority, and that their 
property, being common, should not be alienated 
by the one without the other. Others think that 
perfect equality of power in two persons is not con- 
sistent with order, and the common interest, and 
therefore give authority to the man, and the laws- 
of most nations give the man the disposal of pro- 
perty, with the reservation of pai^ticuiar rights to- 
the woman. 

Some heathen writers gave the man power of 
life and death over the woman, a thing evidently 
barbarous and unjust. 

,. 5. Marriages ?ire sometimes dissolved by di- 
vorces, which our law permits only on three ac- 
counts — adultery, wilful and obstinate desertion, 
and incapacity. The first two of these founded 
on the New Testament, and the last on reason, 
being not so properly a dissolution of a marriage, 
as a declaration that it was void from the begin- 
ning, and never took place. 

Some writers of moral philosophy add, as causes 
of divorce, contrariety of temper, incurable disea- 
ses, and such as would infect the offspring. But 
none of them seem of sufficient moment. The 



84 LECTURES ON 

first would be an evident temptation to causeless 
and wanton separations — and ^l the three may be 
guarded against by previous caution. 

Hutchinson observes that in all nations, marry- 
ing in near degrees of consanguinity or affinity 
has been avoided and abhorred ; and he addsj^that 
the natural and general abhorrence of it has been 
greater than reason seems to dictate. Hence it has 
been conjectured to have been early tradition or 
revelation — and men have exercised their inven- 
tion in finding out the true reason or ground of the 
prohibition. 

One reason assigned is, because if marriage 
w ere lawful to near relations, their frequent inter- 
course vv ould be a strong temptation to unclean- 
ness. 

Another; that if permitted, it would frequently 
confound or invert the duties of relations, by set- 
ting some above others whom they formerly used 
to obey. 

A third reason, and perhaps the best is, that 
abstaining from blood relations in this voluntary-,^ 
contract extends the social ties, and produces ai 
greater number of family relations. 

Whatever be tlie moral reasons, it seems to 
have a strong sanction in nature ; for it is observed 
that marriage between near relations, especially if 
repeated, greatly weakens tlie human race. 

As to the extent of this prohibition, it has beeji 
various in different nations, but the most prevail- 
ing has been to forbid all within three degrees. 
The degrees are reckoned by the steps of descent . 
between the parties and the common parent. Pa- 
rent and child is the first — child and child the se^ 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 8 

cond — child and grand- child the third — and t\v 
grand- children or first cousins the fourth — whtt. 
it becomes lawful. 

Relation of Parents and Children* 

The first thing to be observed is, that this re- 
lation is distinguished by the strongest instinct of 
parental affection. This seems necessary, as the 
education of children is a duty requiring so much 
time, care and expence, which nothing but the 
most rooted affection would submit to. 

The rights of the parent may be summed up in 
these two: 1. Authority, which requires subjec- 
tion in the children. 2. A right to a grateful re- 
turn in due time from the children. The first is a 
perfect right, as far as it extends, but must be li- 
mited. 

Some nations have given parents the power of 
life and death over their children, and Hobbes in- 
sists that children are the goods and absolute pro- 
perty of their parents, and that they may alienate 
them and sell them either for a time or for life. 
But both these seem ill founded, because they are 
contrary to the end of this right, viz. instruction 
and protection. Parental right seems in most cases 
to be limited by the advantage of the childi^en. 

Children are no doubt to judge for themselves 
in matters of religion when they come to years ; 
though the parents are under the strongest obliga- 
tion to instruct them cai^efuUy to the best of their 
i judgment. Those who insist, that to leave them 
their judgment free they ought not to be taught 
any principles, ought to consider that their scheme 
: is impracticable and absurd. If the parents do 



*v LECTtJRES ON 

A instruct them, they will imbibe prejudices 
lid contract habits, perhaps of the worst kind, 
from others* 

Children in most nations are considered as hav- 
ing a right, exclusive of their parents, to property 
given them by others. 

Many nations have given the parents a right to 
dispose of their children in marriage ; but this 
seems to be carrying parental authority too far, if 
it be made absolute^ because it puts in the power 
of the parent to dispose of what is most essential 
to their happiness through the whole of their fu- 
ture life. Yet it seems very contrary to reason 
and nature, that children in early life should dis- 
pose of themselves in marriage without consulting 
their parents. 

Since we have denied the power of life and 
death to parents, it will be asked, what is the sanc- 
tion of their authority ? I ansAver, moderate cor- 
rection in early life, and, as the very highest pu- 
nishment, expulsion from their family, or a for- 
feiture of the privileges which they despise. 

As to the right to a grateful return, it is an im- 
perfect right, but of the strongest kind — some- 
times the civil authority interposes, and obliges 
children to maintain their aged parents. 

To the disgrace of human nature it is often ob- 
served, tliat parental affection is much stronger 
than filial duty. We must indeed acknowledge the 
wisdom of Providence in making the instinctive 
impulse stronger in parentstowards their children, 
than in children towards their parents ; because 
the first is more necessary than the other to the 
public good ; yet when we consider both as im- 



HORAL PHILOSOPHY. 87 

proved into a virtuous disposition, by reason and 
a sense of duty, there seems to be every whit as 
much baseness in filial ingratitude, as in want of 
natural affection, 

i Relation of Master and Servant. 

This relation is first generated by the difference 
which God hath permitted to take place between 
man and man. Some are superior to others in 
mental powers and intellectual improvement — 
some by the great increase of their property 
through their own, or their predecessors industry, 
and some make it their choice, finding they can- 
not live otherwise better, to let out their labour 
to others for hire. 

Let us shortly consider (1.) How far this sub- 
jection extends. (2.) The duties on each side. 

As to the first it seems to be only that the mas- 
ter has a right to the labours and ingenuity of the 
servant, for a limited time, or at most for life. He 
can have no right either to take away life, or to 
make it insupportable by excessive labour. The 
servant therefore retains all his other natural 
rights. 

The practice of ancient nations, of making their 

prisoners of war slaves, was altogether unjust and 

barbarous ; for though we could suppose that 

those who were the causes of an unjust war de- 

I served to be made slaves ; yet this could not be 

I the case of all who fought on their side ; besides, 

I I the doing so in one instance, would authorise the 
doing it in any other ; and those who fought in de- 

r fence of their country, when unjustly invaded, 
might be taken as well as others. The practice was 



88 , LECTURES ON 

also impolitic, as slaves never are so good or faith- 
ful servants, as those who become so for a limit- 
ed time by consent. 



LECTURE XII. 

OF CIVIL SOCIETY. 

CIVIL SOCIETY is distinguished from do- 
mestic, in the union of a numl^r of families in 
one state, for their mutual benefit. 

We have before affirmed, that society always 
supposes an expressed or implied contract or 
agreement. Let us now see what this agreement 
necessarily implies. 

(1.) The consent of every individual to live in, 
and be a member of that society. (2.) A consent 
to some particulai' plan of goA^ernment. (3.) A mu- 
tual agreement between the subjects and rulers ; 
of subjection on the one hand, of protection on 
the other — Tliese are all implied in the union of 
every society, and they complete the whole. 

Any objections that may be raised agaii^st this, 
are easily solved, Ex. Gr. Though every individu- 
al has not given an actual consent, yet his deter- 
mination to live with any society implies it. Again, 
if it be asked how children come to be members 
of a society ; it is answered, they receive the be- 
nefits and partake of the rights of the society du- 
ring the whole time of their education, and as they 
come tothe use of reason, they both claim the pri- 
vilege, and acquiesce in the duty of citizens— -And 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 89 

if they find any thing insupportable in their condi- 
tion, they may alter it at their pleasure. 

Have then all subjects a right, when they see fit, 
to remo\^e from the society in which they are ? I 
answer, that in all ordinary cases they ought to 
I have, at least in time of peace. Perhaps it may be 
affirmed with justice, that they who have enjoy- 
i! ed the privileges of any society in time of peace, 
if war or danger to the public should arise, they 
may be hindered from emigrating at that time, 
and compelled to contribute their share in what 
is necessary to the common defence. 

AVhatever is the form of government in any 
society, the members m.ay be divided into two 
classes, the rulers and the rided^ the magistrates 
and subjects. 

The rights of rulers may be divided into essen- 
tial and accidental : the essential, such as in gene^ 
ral must be vested in rulers of every society ; the 
accidental, such as may be given to the rulers in 
some societies, but not in others. 

The essential rights of rulers are what require 
most to be enumerated, and these again by some 
good v/riters are divided into greater and lesser 
essentials. 

Of the first kind are, (1.) Legislation. (2.) 
Taxation for the public expense. (3.) Jurisdiction, 
or the administration of Justice. (4.) Representa- 
tion, or appearing and acting in name of the whole, 
in a]l transactions, vvdth adjacent independent 
states, chiefly for the purposes of making war or 
peace. 

The less essential rights of rulers are many, 
and tliey are called less essential, because they 



90 LLCTURKS ON j 

may be more varied than the others ; such as, | 
coinhig of money — possessing or managing pub- j 
lie edifices — conferring honours on officers, &c. j 

The rights of subjects in a social state cannot j 
be enumerated, but they may be all summed up \ 
in protection., that is to say, those who have sur- | 
rendered part of their natural rights expect the j 
strength of the public arm to defend and im- j 
prove Vv^hat remains. \ 

It has been often said, that government is car- I 
ried on by rewards and punishments ; but it ought ! 
to be observed, that the only reward that a state i 
can be supposed to bestoM' upon good subjects in i 
general, is protection and defence. Some few, who | 
have distinguished themselves in the public ser- : 
vice, may be distinguished by particular rewards ; | 
but to revv'ard the whole is impossible, because the 
revv'ard must be levied from those very persons to 
w^hom it is to be given. 

After what has been said on the foundation of 
society, viz. consent, perhaps it may be necessary 
to nnention two exceptions. 

1. It is said by som.e with apparent reason, that 
a fewpersons,if accidentally armed w^ith povv^er,may 
constrain a large ignorant rabble to submit to laws 
which will be for their good. This I would ad- 
mit in some cases, when there is an evident mad- 
ness and disorder in the multitude, and Vvhen there 
is a moral certainty that they will afterwards be 
pleased wiih the violence done them. But in gene- 
ral it is but a bad maxim, that we may force peo- 
ple for their good. All lovers of power will be 
disposed to think that eyea a violent use of it is 
for the public good. 



MOE.AL PHILOSOPHY. 91 

2, Though people have actually consented to 
luiy form of government, if they have been essen- 
tially deceived in the nature and operation of the 
laws, if they are found to be pernicious and de- 
structive of the ends of the union, they may cer- 
tainly break up the society, recall their obligation, 
and resettle the whole upon a better footing. 

Of the different forms of government. 

As soon as men began to consider and com- 
pare forms of government, they divided them into 
three general and simple kinds, ( 1 ) monarchy, (2) 
aristocracy, (3) democracy. These are called sim^ 
pie, because they are clearly distinguishable from 
each other in their nature and effects. The an- 
cients genemlly divided the forms of government 
in this manner, because most of their govern- 
' ments were of one or other of these kinds, with 
very little mixture. 

Monarchy is when the suprem^e povrer is vested 
in a single person. Mr. Hutchinson says, monar- 
chy may be either absolute or limited; but this 
I lis an inaccuracy, for limited m.onarchy is one of 
I the mixed kinds of government. 

But monarchy may be either temporary or for 
life. The Roman dictators were absolute for a 
time, and so long as they continued, the govern- 
ment was purely monarchical, all other powers be- 
ing dormant. 

Monarchy may also be either hereditary or 
elective. 

Aristocracy is that form of government, in vrhich 

^he supreme power is lodged with a small num.ber 

" nobles. This is capable of the same variations 

I 



92 LECTURES ON 

as monarchy, and it may be either temporary or 
perpetual, hereditary or elective,- with this differ- 
ence, that a temporary or electiAC aristocracy al- 
ways puts some power in the hands of the people. 
The n:ost complete aristocracy is ^vhen the ruling 
party have the power of cooptation vvithin them- 
selves, and can iill up, as they please, the vacancies 
made by deaths or resignations. 

Democracy is when the supreme pov/er is left | 
in the' multitude. But as in large governments the j 
people in a collective body cannot well meet to- i 
gether, nor could they transact business widi any \ 
convenience if they did, diey may meet by repre- ! 
sentatives, chosen either by the whole, or by par- i 
ticular districts. - 

From those simple forms are generated many j 
complex forms ; two of them may be compound- ! 
ed together, either in equal or in different propor- ( 
tions, or all these may be united, as in the British j 
government. 

After pointing out the simple forms of govern- 
ment, it will be proper to make some general ob- ! 
3ein ations upon govenim.ent, and apply them to | 
the various forms, to shov/ whether any of them is I 
preferable to the other, and the advantages and de- 1 
fiects of each in particular. j 

1. There are four things that seem to be requi- 5 
site in a system of government, and every form is 
good in proportion as it possesses or attains them. 
(1) Wisdom to plan proper measuresfor th«e public 
good. (2) Fidelity to have nothing but the public 
interest in view. (3) Secrecy, expedition, and dis- 
patch, in carrying measures into execution ; and 
(4) Unity and concord, or that one branch of the 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 93 

government may not impede, or be a hindrance 
to another. 

Monarchy has plainly the advantage in unity, 
secrecy, and expedition. Many cannot so easily 
nor so speedily agree upon proper measures, nor 
can they expect to keep their designs secret; 
therefore^ say some, if a man could be found v/ise 
enough, and just enough for the charge, monar- 
chy would be the best form of government. Ac- 
cordingly vvc find that in the command ofa ship, fleet 
or army, one person is commonly intrusted v/ith 
supreme power; but this does not apply to states, 
for many reasons. No man can be found, who has 
either skill sufficient, or, if he had, could give at- 
tention to the whole departments of a great em- 
pire. Besides, in hereditary m^onarchies there is 
no security at all for eitlier wisdom or goodness^ 
and an elective monarchy, though it may seem 
to promise ability, has been always found iil expe- 
rience worse than the other, because there is )i6 
reason to expect that an elected m.onarch will have 
the public good at heart ; he will probably mind 
only private or ftimily interest. 

Aristocracy has the advantage of all the others 
for wisdom in deliberations^ that is to say; a num- 
ber of persons of the first rank must be supposed 
by their consultations to be able to discover the 
public interest. Biit it has very little or no pros- 
pect of fidelity or union. The m.ost ambitious 
projects, and the most violent and implacable 
factions, often prevail in such states. 

Democracy has the advantage of both the others 
for fidelity; the multitude collectively always are 
t'J'He 5n n.ttentTon to. the in'^dTrt ^-f ':\\^. r*n'^'^^r 



94 LECTURES ON 

because it is their own. Thc}-^ are the pubiic. 
But at the same time it has very little advantai.''e 
for wisdom, or union, and none at all for secrecy, 
and expedition. Besides, the multitude are ex- 
ceeding apt to be deceived by demagogues and 
ambitious persons. They are very apt to trust a 
man who serves them well v/ith such power, as; 
that he is able to make them serve him. 

If the true notion of liberty is the prevalence of 
law and order, and the security of individuals, 
none of the simple forms are favourable to it. 

Monarchy every one knows is but another 
name for tyranny, \yhere the arbitary will of one 
capricious man disposes of the lives and proper- 
ties of all ranks. 

Aristocracy always m^akes vassals of the infe- 
rior ra^iks, who have no hand in government, and 
the great commonly rule widi greater seventy than 
absolute m.onarchs. A monarch is at such a dis- 
rtance from most of hjis^subjtcts, that he does them 
Jittle injury; but the lord of a petty seignory is a 
rigorous task-master to his unhappy dependcints. 
The jealousy with w^hich the members of an ai'is- 
.^ocratical state defend their own privileges is no 
security, at all for humanity and easy treatment to 
.tlieir inferiors. Example — the Spartans; their 
treatment of the Helots — and the bcuons in all the 
feudal governments, in their treatment of their 
vassals. 

Pure democracy . cannot subsist long, nor be 
carried far into the departments of state — it is very 
subject to caprice and the madness of popular 
rage. They are also very apt to chuse a favorite, 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY, 95 

;md vest him with such power as overthrows their 
own Hberty, — examples, Athens raid Rome. 

Hence it appears tliat ever^ good form of go- 
vernment must be complex, so that the one prin- 
ciple may check the other. Jt is of consequence to 
have as much virtue among the paiticular mem- 
bers of a community as possible; but it is folly to 
expect that a state should be upheld by integrity 
in all who ha^e a share in managing it. They 
must be so balanced, that when every one draws 
to his own interest or inclination, there may be an 
over-poise upon the whole. 

II. The second observation upon the forms of 
p:overnment is, that where there is a balance of 
different bodies, as in all' mixed forms, there must 
be alwa3's ^oint iiexusimperii^ something to make 
one of them necessaiy to the other. If this is not 
the case, they wdll not only draw different ways, 
but will often separate altogether from each other. 
In order to produce this nexus ^^ovao. of the great 
essential rights of rulers must be divided and dis- 
tributed among the diiierent branches of the legis- 
lature. Exrimple in the British government, the 
king has the power of making war and peace, — - 
but the parliament have the levying and distribu- 
tion of money, which is a sufficient restraint. 

III. The third observation is, that the ruling 
part of any state must always have considerable 
property, chiefly of lands. The reason is, proper- 
ty has siich an invariable influence, that whoever 
possesses property must have povvcr. Property 
in a state is also some security for fidelity, be- 
cause interest then is concerned in the public wel- 
faie. . . 



96 LECTURES OS 

For this reason, did men in every state iiye en- 
tirely by agriculture, an agrarian law would be 
necessary to liberty, because if a vast propoftion 
of property came into a few hands, they would 
soon take all power to themselves. But trade and 
commerce supersede the necessity of this, because 
the great and sudden fortunes accumulated by 
trade cause a rotation of property. 

IV". In a well formed state the subjects should 
not be too numerous, nor too few. If very nu- 
merous, the principles of government cannot ex- 
ert their force over the whole. The Roman em- 
pire fell by its own weight. If the subjects are 
too few, they are not sufficient to suppress internal 
insurrections, or repel attacks from without. 

V. It is frequently observed, that in every go- 
vernment there is a supreme irresistible power 
lodged somewhere, in king, senate, or people. 
To this power is the final appeal in all questions. 
Beyond this we cannot go. How far does this 
authority extend ? We answ^er, as far as authority 
in a social state can extend ; it is not accountable to 
any other tribunal, and it is supposed in the social 
compact that we have agreed to submit to its de- 
cision. There is however an exception, if the su- 
preme power^ wherever lodged, come to be exer- 
cised in a manifestly tyrannical manner, the sub- 
jects may certainly^ if in their power, resist and 
oveilhrow it. But this is only when it becomes 
manifestly more advantageous to unsettle the go- 
vernment altogethel% than to submit to tyranny. 
This resistance to the supreme power, however, is 
subverting the society altogether, and is not to be 
attempted till the govemment is so corrupt, as that 



n\ 



MOUAL PHILOSOPHY, • 97 

titiarchy and the uncertainty of a new settlement is 
'^referable to the continuance as it is. 

This doctrine of resistance even to the supreme 

Jipcwer is essentially connected with what has been 

jfeaid on the social contract, and the consent ne- 
cessary to political union. If it be asked, who 
must judge when the government maybe resisted? 
(I answer, the subjects in general, eyeiy one for 
'himself. This may seem to be making them both 
judge ^nd party, but there is no remedy. It would 
be denying the privilege altogether^ to make the 
oppressive ruler the judge. 
i It is easy to see that the meaning of this is not 

'that any little mistake of the rulers of any society 
will justify resistance. We m.ust obey and submit 
to them always, till the corruption becom.es in- 
tolerable, for to say that we might resist legal au- 
thority every time we judged it to be wTong, 
would be inconsistent with a state of society, and 
to the very first idea of subjection. 

The once femous controversy on passive obe- 
dience and non-resistance seems now in our 
country to be pretty much over ; what the advo- 
cates for submission used to say w^as, that to 

II teach the lawfulness of resisting a government in 
any instance, and to make the rebel the judge, is 
subversive of all order, and must subject a state 
to perpetual sedition ; to w^hich I answer, to re- 
fuse this inherent right in every mail is to esta- 
blish injustice and tyranny, and leave every good 
subject without help, as a tame prey to the ambi- 
tion and rapacity of others. No doubt men may 
abuse the privilege, yet this does not make it void. 
Besides, it is not till a whole people rise, that re- 



98 LECTURES ON 

distance has any effect, and it is not easy to sup- 
pose tliat a whole people would rise against their 
governors, unless when they have really received 
ver}^ great provocation. Whereas, on the other 
hand, nothing is more natural than for rulers to 
grasp at power, and their situation enables them 
to do it successfully by slow and insensible en- 
croachments. In experience there are many in- 
stances of rulers becoming tyrants, but, compara- 
tively, very few of causeless and premature rebel- j 
lions. There are occasional and partial insurrec- I 
tions in every government. Tliese are easily rai- j 
sed by interested persons, but tlie great majority ! 
continues to support order. I 

VI. Dominion, it is plain from all that has been : 
said, can be acquired justly only one way, viz. by | 
consent. There are two other ways commonly j 
mentioned, both of which aie defective, inheritance ! 
and conquest. Hereditary power, which originally 
rose from consent, and is supposed to be founded 
upon the continuance of consent, (as that of the i 
hereditary power in a limited monarchy) is as 
lavv ful as any, but w^hen they pretend such a right 
from nature is independent of the people, it is 
absurd. 

That which is called the right of conquest 
ought to be exploded altogether. We shall see 
by and by what is the right of a conqueror in a 
just war. It was his right before, and he obtains 
possession of it by conquest. But to found any 
claim merely on conquest is not a right, but robbe- 
ry. ^ 

Upon the whole, I will conclude with a few re- 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. ^ 99 

marks upon the spirit and tendency of different 
forms of government. 

i 1. Monarchical government has a tendency to 
politeness and elegance of manners, and generally 
Co luxury. The submission and obsequiousness 
Ipractised at the court of a monarch diffuses itself 
through the whole state. 

I 2. Aristocracy narrows the mind exceedingly, 
Und indeed cannot long subsist in a large state. 
A. small aristocracy, however, may subsist as a 
x)rm of government, as long as any other method, 
Dr longer. 

'; 3. Democracy tends to plainness and freedom 
(bf speech, and sometimes to a savage and inde- 
cent ferocity. Democracy is the nurse of elo- 
:iuence, because when the multitude have the pow- 
^r, persuasion is the only way to govern them. 

Let us now ask this short question, what is the 
7alue and advantage of civil liberty ? 

Is it necessary to virtue? This cannot be sup- 
posed. A virtuous mind and virtuous conduct is 
joossible, and perhaps equally possible, in every 
iX)rm of government. 

Is it necessary to personal private happiness ? 
[t may seem so. We see the subjects of arbitrary 
governments hovv'ever not only happy, but very 
Dften they have a greater attachment to their form 
3f government than those of free states have to 
iheir's. And if contentm.ent be necessary to hap- 
piness, there is commonly more impatience and 
discontent in a free state than in any other. The 
lyramiy even of an absolute monarch does not af- 
fect ^YXth personal injury any of his subjects but 
a few^ and chiefly those who make it their choice 



100 LECTURES ON 1 

tobe near him. Perhaps in free governments the law i 
and the mob do more mischief to private property, i 
than is done in anv absolute monarchv. i 

What then is the advantage of civil liberty,? I * 
suppose it chiefly consists in its tendency to put i 
in motion ail the human powers. Therefore, it \ 
promotes industry, and in this respect happiness, j 
— produces every latent quality, and improves \ 
the human mind. — Liberty is the nurse of riches, j 
literature and heroism, I 



LECTURE XIIL 

! , OF THE LAW OF NATURE AND NATIONS. 

THE next thing in order, is to treat of what is 
called the law oi nature 'scu^ nations. It has been- 
before observed, that separate and independent 
states are w ith regard to one another in a state of 
natural liberty, or as man to man before the com- 
mencement of civil society. On this several ques- 
tions arise. (1) Is there any such law ? (2) What 
is the law^? (3) What is its Scanction, or how is it 
to be enforced? •*%' 

That there is such a law^ is plain, from the rea- 
sons that shoW' the obligation which one man lies 
under to another. If there are natural rights of 
men, there are natural rights of nations. Bodies 
politic, in this view, do not differ in the feast from 
individuals. Therefoie, as before, reason, con- 
science and common utuity, shov/ that there is a 
law of nature and nations* 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 101 

The question what it is, must be considered 
in the same manner. I am not able to recollect 
any perfect or imperfect right that can belong to 
one man, as distinguished from another, but what 
belongs to nations, save that there is usually less 
occasion for the imperfect rights. If we read over 
the perfect rights, in a state of natural liberty, 
(page 71) we shall see they all apply to nations. 

It will also appear thatthe imperfect rights apply ; 
but the occasions of exerting them are much more 
rare. For example, it is more rare to see a nation 
in a state of general indigence, so as to require a 
supply. Yet this sometimes happens. It did so 
in the case of Portugal, at the time of the great 
earthquake at Lisbon. And the other nations of 
Europe lent them assistance. It is also from this 
principle that ships of different nations, meeting at 
sea, will do acts of humanity to one another. 
Sometimes also there are national favours that de- 
serve national gratitude. But this is seldom merit- 
ed, and, I believe, still seldomer paid. 

As to the sanction of the law of nature and na- 
tions, it is no other than a general sense of duty, 
and such a sense of common utility, as makes 
men fear that if they ^notoriously break these laws, 
reproach and infarny among all nations v/ill be the 
effect, and probably resentment and indignation 
by common consent. 

The violation of the natural rights of mankind 
being a transgression of the law of nature, and 
between nations as in a state of natural liberty, 
there being no method of i^dress but force, the 
law of nature and nations has as its chief or only 
object the manner of making war and peace. 

K 



102 LECTURES ON 

In war it is proper to consider distinctly, ( 1 ) 
The causes for which a just war may be carried 
on. (2) The time of commencing. (3) The dura- 
tion. (4) The means by which it may be carried 
on. 

As to the first, the causes of commencing war 
are according to the principles above laid down, 
the violation of any perfect right — as taking away 
the property of the other state, or the lives of its 
subjects, or restraining them in their industry, or 
hindering them in the use of things common, &c. 
There is only one perfect right, the violation of 
which does not seem to be the cause of war ; I 
mean that by which we have a right to character. 
National calumny is scarcely a cause of war, be- 
cause it cannot be frequent or of great effect. 
The violation of imperfect rights cannot usually 
be a cause of war between nations ; yet a case 
may be supposed, in which even these would be a 
just cause of war. Suppose a ship of any nation 
should go into a port of another, in the greatest 
distress, and not only the people in general, but 
the governing part of the society, should deny them 
all assistance — This would be an act of such no- 
torious inhumanity, and of such evil example, that 
it may justify national resentment; and yet even 
here, I think there should first be a demand of 
justice upon the offending persons, before ven- 
geance should be taken upon the state. 

These are the just and legitimate causes of ma- 
king war. Some add to them, that when a nation 
is seen to put itself in such a situation as to defence, 
or as to the means of annoying others, that it seems 
to threaten hostilities, then we are not jjbiiged to 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 103 

wait till it hath committed actual injury, but may 
put it in a state of incapacity : but there is no 
other truth in this, but what is founded upon the 
other; for the preservation of our property implies, 
that if others take such measures as are not to be 
accounted for but upon the supposition of an in- 
tention of wronging me, it is often easier and safer 
to prevent and disarm the robber, than to suffer 
him to commit the violence, and then to strip hirri 
and rob him of his prey. 

One thing more is to be added, that every na- 
tion has a right to join which it pleases of two 
contending paities. This is easily resolved into 
the general principles; for the injured party may 
be supposed to go to war in defence of some per- 
fect right; and the cause being just, the imperfect 
right of humanity, as well as general and common 
utility, calls for assistance to the oppressed. So 
that if we have a risrht to associate with anv nation, 
we may be entitled to protect their property and 
rights. 

2. As to the time of commencing war, it seems 
to be no way contrary to natural law to say it is at 
any time the injured party pleases, after having 
received an injury ; but accident or utility, or a 
desire in each party to manifest the equity of their 
cause, has introduced universally the custom of 
declaring war. This begun very earl)^, and though 
not of absolute right, having been generally intro- 
duced, must be continued, though there is often 
more of form than of substance in it ; for nations 
do often begin both attack and defence before de- 
claration, as well as make all the necessary prepa^. 
rations for striking the most effectual blow. The 



104 LECTURES ON ^ 

meaning of a declaration of war seems to be, to i 

call upon the injuring party to prevent it by re- j 

paration — Likewise to manifest to all other states | 

the justice of the cause. . 

3. The duration of a war should be, according j 
to natural equity, till the injury be completely ' 
Fedressed, and reasonable security given against I 
future attacks : therefore the practice, too com- \ 
m.on, of continuing a war for the acquisition of ^ 
empire, is to be condemned. Because one state i 
has done some injury- to another, it seems quite i 
unreasonable that they should not only repair ihe • 
injury, but subvert and ruin the offending state i 
altogether- — this would be unreasonable between j 
man and mian, if one had wronged another, not i 
only to repair the wrong, but to take all the rest : 
that he had, and reduce his family to beggary. It 
is even more unreasonable in states, because the 
offenders in states aie not to be supposed to be j 
the whole people, but only the rulers, or perhaps | 
only some individuals. 

Perhaps it may be asked, what is reasonable se- 
curity against future injury. I answer, between 
equal independent nations, sol^n treaties ought 
to be considered as security, but if faith has been 
often broken, perhaps something more may be re- | 
quired. The mutual com.plaints of nations against I 
each other for breach of faith makes conquerors 
often demand such a degree of security, as puts 
the conquered altogether in their power. 

4. As to the legitimate means of carrying on 
the war, in general, it m^ay be said in one word, 
by force or open violence. It is admitted on all 
hands, that this force may be used against the 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 105 

person and goods, not only of the rulers, but of 
every member of the hostile state. Tliis may seem 
hard, that innocent subjects of the state should 
suffer for the folly and indiscretion of the rulers, 
or of other members of the same state, but it is 
unavoidable. The whole individuals that com- 
pose a state are considered but as one body; it 
would be impossible for an enemy to distinguish 

l|: the guilty from the innocent; and when men sub- 

j i mit to a government, they risk their own posses- 
sions on the same bottom with the whole, in re- 
turn for the benefits of society. 

Open violence may be said to have no bounds, 
and therefore every method that can be invented, 
and the most deadly weapons of annoyance may 

K seem to be permitted — ^But from what has been 
said above, and upon the principles of general 

i equity, all acts of cruelty and inhumanity are to 
be blamed,— and all severity, that has not an im- 

! mediate effect in weakening the national strength 
of the enemy, is certainly inhumanity— Such as 
killing prisoners whom you can keep safely — kill- 
ing women and children — burning and destroying 
every thing that could be of use in life. 

The use of poisoned weapons has been also ge- 
nerally condemned — ^the poisoning of springs or 
provisions. 

To the honor of modern times, and very pro- 

.bably, I think, to the honor of Christianity, there 
is much more humanity in the way of carrying on 
war than formerly. 

To aim particularly at the life of a leader or per- 
son of chief note seems, to have nothing in it. un- 
ist or improper, because the more important the 

K 2 



106 LECTURies ON 

life, it does more toward the finishing of the war ; 
but what many seem to admit, the bribing of his 
own people to assassinate him privately, I cannot 
think honorable or fair. 

A question is often moved in morals, how far it 
is lawful to deceive an enemy, especially if we hold 
the general and universal obligation of truth. To 
this it may be answered, in the first place, that w^e 
may certainly with great justice conceal our ovv^n 
designs from an enemy — as indeed we may ge- 
nerally from friends, by silence, and guarding 
against every circumstance that may betray them. 
Neither do I think there is any thing at all blame- 
worthy in a general of an army using ambiguous 
signs, as feigned marches of a part or the whole, 
putting up lights or such things, because after a 
declaration of war he does not pretend to give in- 
formation to his enemy of his motions, nay it is 
expected on both sides that they will do the best 
they can to over -reach one another in point of pru- 
dence. Yet I can scarce think it right to employ 
people to go to the enemy, and professing to be 
sincere, tell direct falsehoods, and deceive them 
by that false intelligence. 

It is the custom of all to send spies to discover 
the enemy's designs, and also to bribe some of 
the enemies themselves to discover the designs of 
|heir leaders — The last of which is, I think, at 
least of a doubtful nature, or rather unjust — 
Though sending spies is by all approved, yet 
{what may seem a little unaccountable) such spies 
<are always punished with instant death by the op- 
jposit'C side when detected. The reason probably 
is, that pretending friendship they have a right to 



Moral philosophy. 107 

consider them as traitors — Or as they are in an 
act of hostility, they kill them, as they would do 
an enemy in battle when in their power. 

These circumstances apply to all war in general: 
but there is a distinction of wars by civilians into 
two kinds, solemn and civiL The first includes 
all wars between states formerly independent, the 
other internal insurrections of a pai^t of one go- 
vernment against another. 

There has generally been a great difference in 
the behaviour of the opposite pailies in these dif- 
ferent wars. In solemn wars there is a presump- 
tion of integrity in the plurality on both sides, each 
believes his own cause to be just. On this ac- 
count they are to be treated with the more huma- 
nity. In civil wars the insurgents are considered 
as making unjust resistance to the ruling part of 
the society, and therefore guilty of the greatest 
crimes against society. Therefore they are often 
treated with great rigour, and when taken in battle, 
reserved to solemn trial and public execution. 
There is some reason for this in many cases, when 
it is indeed an unreasonable or unprovoked insur- 
rection of disorderly citizens ; but there are 
many cases in which the pretences on both sides 
are so plausible, that the war should be in all 
respects considered as solemn. 

It should be observed, notwithstanding the hos- 
tile disposition, there are occasions, both in a trea- 
ty for peace and during the continuance of the 
war, when enemies are under the strongest obli- 
gations to sincerity in their behaviour to each other. 
— When proposals are made for accommodating 



108 LECTURES ON 

the difFerences, for a suspension of arms, for an 
exchange of prisoners, or any thing similar. 

It is worth while to inquire, whether the 
greatest honor and candour in war, with a strict 
adherence to all the laws above laid down, would 
give any party a great advantage, who should take 
the liberty of transgressing them — ^as for example, 
who should use poisoned weapons — should send 
people to tell false stories — should bribe subjects 
to assassinate a hostile prince — I answer, that 
they would have no advantage at all, but probably 
the contrary. There is something powerful in 
magnanimity, which subdues the hearts of ene- 
mies ; nay, sometimes terrifies them, and parti-- 
cularly inspires a general's army with invincible 
courage. Besides these, sinister arts are not so 
terrible as may be imagined — ^telling false news 
is as easily discovered as any trick whatsoever. 

Prudence and integrity have no need of any 
assistance from fraud — acts even of generosity, 
from enemy to enemy, are often as useful as any 
acts of hostility. There was something very hand- 
some in the Roman general, who refused to avail 
himself of the treachery of a school- master, as well 
as whimsical, in the way in which he punished the 
traitor. 

Of Making Peace. 

As already hinted, all proposals tending to this 
purpose ought to be made with the vitmost sin- 
cerity. Of all deceits in war, the most infamous 
is that of making a treaty, or seeking a confer- 
ence, only to take advantage of the security of one 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 109 

party to destroy him — ^by assassination, or by^ 
breaking a truce, to fight with advantage. 

The terms of peace ought to be agreeable to the 
end of making war. Damages should be repaired, 
and security given against future injury. 

We have often said that nation to nation is as 
man to man in a state of natural liberty ; there- 
fore treaties of peace between nations should in 
general proceed upon the same principles as 
private contracts between man and man. There 
is however an exception, that contracts be- 
tween individuals are (at least by law) always void, 
when they are the effect of constraint upon one 
side. Now this must not hold in treaties between 
nations, because it would always furnish a pretext 
for breaking them. On the side of the conquered, 
a treaty is always in a great degree the effect of 
necessity. 

It is generally, however, laid down in most 
authors as a principle, that the terms imposed and 
submitted to may be sometimes so rigorous and 
oppressive, as to justify the injured party in re- 
volting when they are able. This seems to me to 
be very lax in point of morals. It would be bet- 
ter I think to say, that the people who made the 
treaty should not recede from it. Their posterity, 
however, at some distance, cannot be supposed 
bound to unjust servitude by the deeds of their 
fathers. 

Let us conclude this subject by a few remarks 
on the situation of neutral states. 

1. Every state has a right, when others are con- 
tending, to remain neuter, and assist neither 
party. 



110 LECTURES ON 

2. They have a right to all their former pri- 
vileges with both the contending parties — may 
carry on their traffic with both, and may show all 
the usual marks of friendship to both — only it has 
been generally agreed upon, that they are not to 
trade with any of them in certain articles sup- 
posed to be of consequence in carrying on war, 
particularly provisions and arms. 

3. Neutral powers should keep their harbours 
alike open to both for common refreshment, and 
as an asylum to fly to. And it is held necessary 
that the contending powers must not carry on their 
quarrel, nor exercise any hostilities, within the 
territories of a neutral state. 

4. Neutral states may purchase moveable goods 
from any of the contending parties, which have 
been taken from the other. But not so with res- 
pect to lands or forts, because if the other party 
are able, they will re-take their possessions. 

5. Deeds of a violent possessor are held to be 
valid, that is to say, if a conqueror prevails for a 
time, and levies tribute from any country, and 
afterwards the rightful possessor prevails, it would 
be unjust to demand the tribute again, because 
the true owner was not able to give protection to 
the subjects, and what was paid was lost through 
his weakness. The same thing may be said of a 
dependent state ; if it owes any money and service 
to a supreme state, and an enemy exact it by 
force, the proper creditor cannot justly demand it 
again. 

On the whole, those things that have been ge- 
nerally received as the law of nature and nations, 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY, Hi 

are founded on the principles of equity, and, when 
well observed, do greatly promote general utility. 



LECTURE XIV. 

JURISPRUDENCE. 

JURISPRUDENCE is the method of enacting 
and administering civil laws in any constitution. 

We cannot propose to go through a system of 
civil laws, and therefore what I have in view is to 
make some preliminary remarks, and then to point 
out the object of civil laws, and the manner of 
their operation. 

1. The first preliminary remark is, that a con- 
stitution is excellent, when the spirit of the civil 
laws is such as to have a tendency to prevent of- 
fences and make men good, as much as to punish 
them when they do evil. 

This is necessary in some measure; for when 
the general disposition of a people is against the 
laws, they cannot long subsist, even by a strict 
and rigorous execution on the part of the rulers. 
There is however more of this in some constitu- 
tions than in others. Solon and Xenophon, as 
well as Lycurgus, seem to have formed their plan 
very much with this view% to direct the manners 
of the people in the first place, which wall always 
make the observation of particular laws easy. 

But how shall the magistrate manage this mat- 
ter, or what can be done by law to make the peo- 
ple of any state virtuous ? If, as w^e have seen » 
above, virtue and piety ai^e inseparably connected, 



112 LECTURES ON 

then to promote true religion is the best and most 
effectual way of making a virtuous and regular 
people. Love to God, and love to man, is the 
substance of religion; when these prevail, civil 
laws will have little to do. 

But this leads to a very important disquisition, 
how far the magistrate ought to interfere in matters 
of religion. Religious sentiments are very various 
- — and we have given it as one of the perfect rights 
in natural liberty, and which ought not to be 
alienated even in society, that every one should 
judge for himself in matters of religion. 

What the magistrate may do on this subject 
seems to be confined to the three following particu- 
lars 

(1.) The magistrate (or ruling part of any so- 
ciety) ought to encourage piety by his own ex- 
ample, and by endeavoring to make it an object of 
public esteem. Whenever the general opinion is 
in favour of any thing, it w^ill have many followers. 
Magistrates may promote and encourage men of 
piety and virtue, and they may discountenance 
those whom it would be improper to punish. 

(2.) The magistrate ought to defend the rights 
of conscience, and tolerate all in their religious sen- 
timents that are not injurious to their neighbours. 
In the ancient heathen states there was less occasion 
for this, because in the system of polytheism the 
different gods and rites were not supposed to be 
opposite, but co-ordinate and consistent; but 
when there is believed to be but one God, the sen- 
timents about his nature and worship will often be 
considered as essentially repugnant one to another. 

The pretence of infidels, that persecution only 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY* 113 

belongs to the Christian religion, is absurd ; for 
the Christian was the first religion that was perse- 
cuted, and it was the necessary consequence of 
saying, that the gods of the heathens were no 
gods. 

At present, as things are situated, one of the 
most important duties of the magistracy is to pro- 
tect the rights of conscience. 

It is commonly said, however, that in case any 
sect holds tenets subversive of society and incon- 
sistent with the rights of others, that they ought 
not to be tolerated. On this footing Popery is not 
tolerated in Great Britain ; because they profess 
entire subjection to a foreign power, the see of 
Rome ; and therefore must be in opposition to 
the proper interest of their own state ; and be- 
cause violence or persecution for religion is a part 
of their religion, which makes their prosperity 
threaten ruin to others — as well as the principle 
imputed to them, which they deny, that faith is 
not to be kept with heretics. But however just 
this may be in a way of reasoning, we ought in 
general to guard against persecution on a religious 
account as much as possible, because such as 
hold absurd tenets are seldom dangerous. Perhaps 
they are never dangerous, but when they are op- 
pressed. Papists are tolerated in Holland without 
danger to liberty. And though not properly tole-^ 
rated, they are now connived at in Britain. 

In ancient times, in great states, the sensorial 
power was found necessary to their continuance, 
which inspected the manners of men. It seems 
probable, that supporting the religious sects in 
modern times answers this end, for the particular 

L 



114 LECTURES ON 

discipline of each sect is intended for tRe correc« 
tion of manners. 

(3.) The magistrate may enact laws for the 
punishment of acts of profanity and impiety. 
The different sentiments of men in rehgion ought 
not by any means to encourage or gi^^e a sanction 
to such acts as any of them count profane. 

Many are of opinion that, besides all this, the 
magistrate ought to make public provision for the 
worship of God, in such mamier as is agreeable 
to the great body of the society ; though at the 
same time all who dissent from it are fully tole- 
rated. And indeed there seems to be a good deal of 
reason for it, that so instruction may be provided 
for the bulk of common people, w^ho would, ma- 
ny of them, neither support nor employ teachers, 
unless they were obliged. The magistrate's right, 
in this case, seems to be something like that of 
the parent^ they have a right to instruct, but not 
to constrain. 

2. The second preliminary remark is, that laws 
should be so framed as to promote such principles 
in general, as are favourable to good government, 
and particularh^ that principle, if there be one, that 
gave rise to the constitution, and is congenial to it. 

Such a principle as I have in view, is generally 
the point of honour in a country, and this lawgiv- 
ers and administrators of law should endeavour to 
preserve in its full vigour, for whenever it is un- 
der mined, the constitution goes to ruin. 

Of these principles, sobriety, industry, and 
public spirit ai^e the chief. Some states are for- 
med to subsist by sobriety and parsimony, as the 
Lacedemoniansc 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. llo 

Industry is the prevailing principle in others, 
as in Holland* Public spirit in others, as in 
Greece, ancient Rome, and Britain. Only public 
spirit nriay be diversified ; sometimes it is a pas- 
sion for acquiring glory and dominion^ as in 
Rome, and sometimes for preserving liberty, as 
in Greece and Britain. 

When I say, that in the management of a stat^ 
the utmost attentioa should be given to the prin- 
ciple of the constitution, to preserve it in its vi- 
gour,.! mean that tliough all other crimes are bad, 
and in part tend to the ruin of a state, yet this is 
much more the case with crimes against that prin- 
ciple than any other.. Any act of immorality was 
bad at Sparta, but to make poverty and pai'simo- 
ny reproachful, and to introduce fine houses and 
furniture, and delicate entertaimnents, would have 
been instant ruin.. 

Any act of immorality would be hurtful in Hol- 
land, but to make fraudulent bankruptcy less 
infam..ous than it is would immediately destroy 
them.. 

Sobriety, industry, and public spirit, are near- 
ly allied, and have a reciprocal influence upon one 
another. Yet there may be a great degree of 
some of them, in the absence of the others. In 
Sparta, there was much sobriety and public spirit, 
but little industry. In Athens, industry and pub- 
lic spirit, with very little parsimony. 

In opposition to the whole of this, Mandeville 
wrote a book, called The Fable of the Beesj Vvhich 
seems to be levelled against sobriety, industry 
and public spirit, all at once; his position is, that 
private vices are public benefits^ and that the waste 



116 LECTURES ON 

and luxury of one man supplies the wants of ano- 
ther ; but it is easy to overthrow his reasoning, 
for though sober and industrious persons spend 
each less than a profuse person, yet sobriety and 
industry tend much more to population, and by 
that means they are mutually serviceable to each 
other. Luxury and vice only waste and destroy, 
they add nothing to the common stock of property 
or of happiness. Experience fully justifies this, 
for though from the luxury of one man another 
may reap some gain, the luxury of a nation always 
tends to the ruin of that nation. 

3. A third preliminary remark is, that laws 
may be of two kinds, either written, or in the 
breasts of magistrates. In every constitution of 
note, there is something of each of these kinds. It 
is uncertain whether it is better to have many or 
few special laws. On the one hand, it seems to be 
the very spirit of a free constitution, to have every 
^^thing as strictly defined as possible, and to leave 
little in the power of the judge. But on the other 
hand, a multiplicity of law^s is so apt to lead to liti- 
gation, and to end in ambiguity, that perhaps 
judges of equity, chosen by the district in which 
they live and are to act, and chosen but for a time, 
would be a more just and equitable method of 
ending differences. But the difficulty of set- 
tling a constitution so as always to secure the 
election of impartial judges, has made modern 
states, where there is liberty, prefer a multiplicity 
of written laws, 

4 The last preliminary remark is, that no hu- 
man constitution can be so formed, but that there 
must be exceptions to every law. So that there 



WOK AX PHTEOSOPHY, IIT 

may be in every nation oppression under form of 
law, according to the old maxim, summum jus 
summa iniuria. This further shews the necessity 
of forming the manners of a people. 

After having laid down these preliminaries, we 
may observe that the object of civil laws may be 
divided into the three following particulars. 

1. To ratify the moral laws by the sanction of 
the society. The transgression of such laws are 
called crimes^ as profanity, adultery, murder, ca- 
kimny, &c. And they are prosecuted and punish- 
ed by order of the public, according to the spirit 
of every constitution. 

2. To lay down a plan for all contracts in the 
commerce or intercourse between man and man , 
To show when a contract is valid, and how to be 
proved. The transgressions of such laws are call- 
ed frauds. They chiefly regard the acquisition, 
transmission, or alienation of property. 

3. To limit and direct persons in the exercise 
of their own rights, and oblige them to show re= 
spect to the interfering rights of others. This con^ 
tains the whole of what is called the police of a 
country.. — And the transgression of such lavvs are 
called trespasses. A number of things in this 
view may become illegal, which before were not 
immoraL- 

Of the Sanction of the Moral Laxvs^ 

In all polished nations, there are punishments 
annexed to the transgression of the moral laws, 
w^hether against God, our neighbour, or ourselves ; 
in the doing of which, the three following things 
are chiefly necessary. 

L 2 



lis LECTURES ON ] 

( 1 . ) To determine what crimes, and what degree j 
of the same crime, are to be inquired into by the 

civil magistrate. It is of necessity that in a free i 

state crimes should be precisely defined, that men ! 

may not be ignorantly or rashly drawn into them* i 

There are degrees of every crime — profanity, im- i 

purity, violence, slander, that are blameable in j 

point of morals, nay, even such as may fall under I 

the discipline of a religious society — that if they I 

were made cognizable by the civil magistrate, \ 

would multiply laws and trials beyond measure. I 

(2. ) To appoint the methods of ascertaining the I 
commiission of crimes. This is usually by testi- 
mony, in which we are to consider the number and i 
character of the witnesses. Generally through I 
Christendom, and mdeed most other parts of the i 
world, two witnesses have been esteemed necessa- 
ry to fix crimes upon an accused person ; not but 
that the positive evidence of one person of judg- j 
ment and untainted character is, in many cases, " 
su fficient to gain belief, and often stronger than two j 
of unknown or doubtful credit, but it was neces- I 
sary to lay down some rule, and two are required { 
to guard against the danger of hired evidence, and i 
to give an opportunity of trying how they agree ! 
together. To have required more would have 
made a proof difficult or impossible in many 
cases. I 

It seems to be a maxim in law, and founded - 
on reason, that in the case of what are called oc- 
cult crimes, such as murder, adultery, forgery, 
and some others, where the nature of the thing 

shows that there must be a penury of evidence, : 

they sometimes content themselves with fewer j 



MORAL PHIL030:PKr. 119 

witnesses, if there are corroborating circiimstan^ 
ces to strengthen their testimony. 

It seems to be a matter not easily decided, 
whether it be agreeable to reason and justice, in the 
case of very atrocious crimes,, that on account of 
the atrocity y less evidence, should: be sufficient for 
conviction, or that ;;2arre' should be required. On 
the one hand^ the more atrocious the crime, the 
greater the hurt to society, and the more need of 
public vengeance,. On the other hand, the more 
atrocious the crime, and the heavier the punish^ 
ment,, it seems agreeable to justice that the con- 
viction should be upon the more unquestioned evi- 
dence^ Lawyers are seen to take theu^ common 
places, sometimes the one way, sometimes the 
other. It is often thought that m practice, less 
evidence is sufficient to convict a man of murder, 
forgery^ rape,, and other crimes of a deep dye* 
But I am persuaded that the appearance is owing 
to the greater and more general eagerness to dis- 
cover the perpetrators of such crimes. Others are 
suffered to escape more easily,, not that more evi- 
dence is necessary, but that it is more difficult to 
get at the evidence^ 

Evidence may be distinguished into two kinds^ 
direct and circumstantiaL Direct evidence is w hen 
the w^itnesses sw^ear to their sight or knowledge of 
the accused committing the crime. Circumstan- 
tial, when they only swear to certain facts, which 
cannot be supposed to have existed unless the 
^ crime had been committed. As a man found dead 
— another found near the place — with a weapon 
bloody, — or clothes bloody, &c. Some have af- 
firmed that circumstantial evidence is stronger than 



120 LECTURES ON 

direct, but it must be taken with ver}' great cau- 
tion and judgment. 

(3.) The law is to proportion and appoint the 
punishment due to everj crime when proven. 

Punishment in all regular states is taken wholly 
out of the hands of the injured persons, and com- 
mitted to the magistrate, though in many or most 
cases the injured party is suftered to join the ma- 
gistrate in the prosecution, and to have a certain 
claim, by way of reparation, as far as that is prac- 
ticable. 

Therefore the punishment in general must con- 
sist of two parts, (1.) reparation to the sufferer, 
(2.) the vindicta publica, which has sometimes 
two ends in view, to be an example to others, and 
to reclaim and reform the offender, as in corporal 
punishment less than death. Sometimes but one,, 
the good of others in the example, as in capital 
punishments, and banishment. 

The kind of punishment, and the degree, is left 
wholly to different lawgivers, and the spirit of 
different constitutions. Public utility is the rule. 
Punishment is not always proportioned to the 
atrociousness of the crime in point of morals, 
but to the frequency of it, and the danger of its 
prevailing. 

Some nations require,, and some will beai' great- 
er severity in punishments than others. 

The same or similar conduct often produces op- 
posite effects. Severe laws and severe punish- 
ments, sometimes banish crimes but very often 
the contrary. When laws are very sanguinary, it 
often makes the subjects hate the law nore than 
they fear it, and the transition, is very easy, from 
hating the law to hating those w^ho are entrusted 



3I0RAL PHILOSOPHY. 121 

with the execution of it. Such a state of things 
threatens insurrections and convulsions, if not the 
dissokition of a government. 

Another usual effect of excessive severity in 
laws is, that they ai^e not put in execution. The 
public is not wdHing to lend its aid to the discovery 
and conviction of offenders ; so that in time the 
law itself becomes a mere brutum fulmen, and 
loses its authority. 

I may make one particular remark, that though 
many things are copied from the law of Moses in- 
to the laws of the modern nations, yet, so far as I 
know, none of them have introduced the lex tali- 
onis in the case of injuries, an eye for an eye, and 
a tooth for a tooth, &c. and yet perhaps there are 
many instances in which it would be very proper. 
The equity of the punishment would be quite mani- 
fest, and probably it would be as effectual a restraint 
from the commission of injury, as any that could 
be chosen. 

The concluding remark shall be, that it is but 
seldom that very severe and sanguinary laws are 
of service to the good order of a state ; but after 
laws have been fixed with as much equity and 
moderation as possible, the execution of them 
should be strict and rigorous. Let the laws hejiist^ 
and the magistrate i?iflexible. 



LECTURE XV. 

THE second object of civil laws being to 
regulate the making of contracts, and the whole 



122 LECTURES ON 

intercourse between man and man, relating^ to the 
acquisition, possession and alienation of property, 
we must consider carefully the nature of 

Contracts^ 

A contract is a stipulation between two parties,^ 
before at liberty, to make some alteration of pro- 
perty, or to bind one or both parties to the per- 
formance of some service. 

Contracts are absolutely necessary in social life. 
Every transaction almost may be considered as a 
contract, either more or less explicit. 

The principal thing which constitutes a con- 
tract is, consent. But in some kinds of contracts, 
viz. the gratuitous, the consent of the receiver 
is presumed. In the transmission of estates by 
donation or testament this is presumed — and 
those who are incapable of giving their consent, 
through infancy, may notwithstanding acquire 
property and rights. When a man comes into a 
settled country and purchases property, he is sup- 
posed, besides every other part of the bargain, to 
purchase it under such conditions, and subject 
himself to such laws, as are in force in that coun- 
try. 

Contracts are said to be of three degrees in 
point of fulness and precision — (1.) A simple af^ 
firmation of a design as to futurity — as when I say 
to any one that I shall go to such a place to-mor- 
row: this is not properly binding, and it is sup- 
posed that many things rnay occur to make me 
alter my resolution — ^yet a frequent alteration of 
professed purposes gives the character of levity; 
therefore a prudent man will be cautious of de- 



MORAL PHILOSOPKY. 123 

daring his purposes till he is well determined. 
(2.) A gratuitous promise of doing some favour to 
me. This is not made binding in law, nor does it 
usually convey a perfect right, because it suppo- 
ses that the person who was the object of good- 
will may, by altering his behaviour, forfeit his 
title to it, or that the person promising may find 
it much more inconvenient, costly, or hurtful to 
himself, than he supposed; or, lastl)^, that what 
w^as intended as a service, if performed, appears 
plainly to be an injury. In the last case every one 
must see, that it cannot be binding; but in the 
two former, I apprehend that in all ordinary cases 
a distant promise is binding in conscience, though 
it may not be necessary to make it binding in law. 
I say all ordinary cases, because it is easy to figure 
a case in which I may make a promise to another, 
and such circumstances may afterwards occur as 
I am quite confident, if the person knew, he would 
not hold me to my promise. 

3. The third degree is a complete contract, with 
consent on both sides, and obligation upon one 
or both. 

The essentials of a contract, which render it 
valid, and any of which being wanting, it is void, 
are as follow : 

That it be, (1.) Free. (2.) Mutual. (3.) Pos« 
sible. (4.) Careful. (5.) With a capable person. 
(6.) Formal-. 

First. It must be free. Contracts made by un- 
just force are void always in law, and sometimes 
in conscience. It must however be unjust force, 
because in treaties of peace between nations, as 
we have seen before, force does not void the con- 



124 LECTURES ON 

tract ; and even in private life sometimes men are 
forced to enter into contracts by the order of a 
magistrate, sometimes by the threatening of legal 
prosecution, which does not make them void. 

2. They must be mutual, that is, the consent of 
tlie one as well as that of the other must be had. 
Contracts in this view become void, either by 
fraud on one side, or by essential error. If any 
man contrives a contract so as to bind the other 
party, and keep himself free, this fraud certainly 
nullifies the agreement — or if there is an essential 
error in the person or the thing, as if a person 
should oblige himself to one man, supposing him 
to be another. 

3. Contracts should be of things evidently possi- 
ble, and probably in our power. Contracts,by which 
men oblige themselves to do things impossible, are 
no doubt void from the beginning ; but if the im- 
possibility was known to the contracting party, it 
must have been either absurd or fraudulent. When 
things engaged for become impossible by the ope- 
ration of Providence, without a man's own fault, 
the contract is void, and he is guiltless — as if a 
man should covenant to deliver at a certain place 
and time a number of cattle, and when he is al- 
most at the place of destination they should be 
killed by thunder, or any other accident, out of 
his power. 

4. Contracts must be of things lawful. All en- 
gagements to do things unlawful are from the be- 
ginning void ; but by unlawful must be under- 
stood the violation of perfect rights. If a man 
oblige himself for a reward to commit murder, or 
any kind of fraud, the engagement is void ; but it 
v/as criminal in the transacting, and the reward 



MORAL 5^HiLOSOPH\% 125 

ought to be returned, or given to public uses. 
There are many contracts, however, which are 
verv blameabie in making-, that must, notwith- 
standing, be kept, and must not be made void iii 
law-^— as rash and foolish bargains^ where there 
was no fraud on the other side* If such were to be 
voided, great confusion would be introduced. 
The cases of this kind are numerous, and may be 
greatly diversified. "^ 

5. Contracts must be made with a capable per- 
son, that is to say, of age, understanding, at liber- 
ty. Sec. It is part of the civil law, or rather mu- 
nicipal law, of every country, to fix the time of 
life when persons are supposed capable of trans- 
acting their own affairs. Some time must be fix- 
ed, otherwise it would occasion numberless dis- 
putes, difficult to be decided. A man at the age 
of fourteen, and a w oman at twelve, may choose 
guardians, who can alienate their property, and at 

ii the age of twenty-one they have their estates 

I wholly in their own hand. 

I 6. Contracts must be formal. 

' The laws of every country limit a great many 
circumstances of the nature, obligation, extent,and 
duration of contracts. 

Having pointed out something of the essential 
characters of all lawful contracts ; I observe, they 
may be divided two different ways, (1) contracts 
are either absolute or conditional. The absolute 
are such as are suspended upon no condition, but 
such as are essential to every contract, which have 
been mentioned above. Such as when a person 
makes a settlement upon another, without reserve, 
then, whether he behave well or ill, whether it be 

M ' 



126 LECTURES ON 

convenient or inconvenient, it must be fulfilled. 
Conditional contracts are those that are suspended 
on any uncertain future contingency, or some 
performance by the opposite party. Of this last 
sort are almost all transactions in the way of com- 
merce, — which leads to the (2) way of dividing 
contracts, into beneficent and onerous. The first 
is when one freely brings himself under an obliga- 
tion to bestow any favour or do any service, as 
donations or legacies, and undertaking the ofiice 
of guardian of another person's estate. 

The onerous contract is when an equal value is 
supposed to be given on both sides, as is the case 
for the most part in the alienation of property — 
and the transactions between man and man, and 
between society and society. 

To this place belongs the question about the 
lawfulness of lending money upon interest. If we 
consider money as an instrument of commerce, and 
giving an opportunity of making profit, there 
seems plainly to be nothing unjust, that the lend- 
er should shaie in the advantage arising from his 
own property. 

The chief thing necessary is, that the state or 
governing part of the society should settle the rate 
of interest, and not suffer it to depend upon the 
necessity of the poor or the covetousness of the 
rich. If it is not settled by law, usury will be the 
certain consequence, 

The law of Moses does not seem to have ad- 
mitted the taking of interest at allrfrom an Israelite. 
It is thought, how ever, that the main reason of this 
must have been drawn from something in their 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY* 127* 

constitution, as a state that rendered it improper, 
for if it had been in itself immoral, they would 
not have been permitted to take it of strangers. 

Of the Marks or Signs of Contracts. 

All known and intelligent marks of consent are 
the signs and means of compleating contracts. The 
chief of these however are words and writing,as be- 
ing found the most easy and useful. Words are of 
all others the most natural and proper for giving 
immediate consent, and writing to perpetuate the 
memory of the transaction. There are however 
many other signs that may be made use of, and 
wherever there is a real purpose of signif} ing our 
intention, by which others are brought to depend 
upon it, the engagement is real, and we are bound 
in conscience, though the law in every country 
must of necessity be more limited. The Vv^iole 
rests ultimately oa the obligation to sincerity in 
the social life. 

This obligation arises from the testimony of 
conscience, and from the manifest utility and even 
necessity of sincerity to social intercourse. 

Signs are divided into natural^ instituted^ and 
customary. Natural signs are those which have 
either a real likeness to the thing signified, or such 
a known and universal relation to it, that all men 
must naturally be led from the one to the other — 
as a picture is a natuml sign, because a repre- 
sentation of the thing painted. An inflamed sullen 
countenance and fiery eyes are natural signs of 
anger, because they are the universal effects of 
that passion. 

Instituted signs are those that have no other 



128 LECTURES ON 

connexion with the thing signified, tloan what has 
been made by agreement ; as if two persons shall 
agree betw een themselves, that if the one wants to 
signify to the other at a distance, that he wishes 
him to come to his assistance, he will kindle a 
fire upon a certain hill, or hang out a flag upon a 
certain pinna.cle of his house, or some part of his 
ship. Words and writing are properly instituted 
signs, for they have no relation to the thing sig^ 
nified but what original agreement and long cus- 
tom has given them. 

Customary signs are no other than instituted 
signs which have long prevailed, and whose in- 
stitution has either been accidental or has been 
forgotten. It is also usual to apply the w^ord cus- 
tomary to such signs as depend upon the mode 
and fashion of particular countries. There are 
some signs and postures, which though they may 
seem perfectly arbitrary, have obtained very ge- 
nerally, perhaps universally, as bending down the 
body, or prostration, as a sign of respect and re- 
verence ; kneeling, and lifting up the hands, as a 
sign of submission and supplication. — Perhaps 
both these are natural, as they put the person into 
the situation least capable of resistance. 

Sometimes there is a mixture of natural and 
instituted signs, as if a man sends a pair of wings, 
or the figure of them, to a friend, to intimate his 
danger and the necessity of flying. 

In the use of signs, the great rule of sincerity is, 

that wherever we are bound, and wherever we 

profess to communicate our intention, we ought 

to use the signs in the least ambiguous manner 

.possible. When we have no intention, and are 



>tORAL PHILOSOPHY. 129 

under no obligation to communicate any thing to 
others, it is of small moment what appeaiTuices 
are ; it is their business not to make any un- 
necessary or uncertain inferences. A light in a 
house, in the middle of the night, will perhaps 
suggest most probably, to a traveller accidentally 
passing, that there is somebody sick in that house ; 
yet perhaps it is extraordinary study or business 
that keeps some person awake. 

Nay, when there is no obligation to give, nor 
any reason for the party to expect true informa- 
tion, it is held generally no crime at all, to use such 
signs as we have reason to suppose will be mista- 
ken ; as when one who does not desire to be dis- 
turbed keeps his chamber close shut, that people 
may conclude he is not there. When a general of 
an army puts a fire in the camp, to conceal his 
march or retreat. And probably none vrould think 
it faulty, when there was an apprehension of 
lhieves,to keep a light burning in a chamber,to lead 
them to suppose the whole family is not eit rest. 

There are some who place in the same rank, 
evasive phrases, when there is an appai^ent inten- 
tion to speak our mind, but no right in the other 
to obtain it. Such expressions may be strictly 
true, and yet there is all probability that the hear- 
er will misunderstand them. As if one should ask 
if a person was in any house, and sliould receive 
for answer, he went away yesterday morning, 
when perhaps he returned the same evening. I 
look upon these evasions, however, as very doubt- 
ful, and indeed rather not to be chosen, because 
they seem to contain a profession of telling our 
real mind. 

M 2 



130 LECTURES ON 

Some mention ironical speech as an exception 
to the obligation to sincerity. But it is properly 
no objection at ail, because there is no deception. 
Truth lies not in the words themsehes, but in the 
use of them as signs. Therefore, if a man speak 
his words in such a tone and manner as the hear- 
er immediately conceives they are to be taken in 
an opposite sense, and does really take them in 
the sense the speaker means them, there is no 
falsehood at all. 

Mn Hutchinson, and some others, allow a vo- 
luntary intended departure from truth, on occasion 
of some great necessity for a good end. This I 
apprehend is wrong, for we cannot but consider 
deception as in itself base and unworthy, and 
therefore a good end cannot justify it. Besides, to 
suppose it were in men's power on a sufficient oc- 
casion to violate truth, would greatly destroy its 
force in general, and its use in the social life. 

There are two sorts of fcilsehood, which, be- 
cause no doubt they are less aggravated than ma- 
licious interested lies, many adinit of, but I think 
l^ithcut sufficient reason. 

(1) Jocular li€s, when there is a real deception 
intended, but not in any thing material, nor in- 
tended to continue long. However hai^mless these 
may seem, I reckon they ai^e to be blamed, be- 
cause it is using too much freedom widi so sa- 
cred a thing as truth. And very often such per- 
sons, as a righteous punishment in Providence, 
are left to proceed further, and either to carry 
their folly to such excess, as to l>ecome contemp- 
tible, or to go beyond folly into malice. 



MOHAL PHILOSOPHY. 131 

(2) Officious lies, telling falsehoods to children 
or sick persons, for their good. These very sel- 
dom answer the end that is proposed. They les- 
sen the reverence for truth ; and, particularly with 
regard to children, are exceedingly pernicious, 
for as they must soon be discovered,^ they lose 
their force, and teach them to deceive. Truth 
and authority are methods infinitely preferable, in 
dealing with children, as well as with persons of 
riper years. 



IP 



LECTUEE XYL 



OF OATHS AND VOWS* 



AMONG the signs and appendages of con- 
tracts, are oaths and vows. 

An oath is an appeal to God, the searcher of 
hearts, for the truth of what we say, and always 
expresses or supposes an imprecation of his judg- 
ment upon us, if we prevaricate. 

An oath therefore implies a belief in God, and 
his Providence, and indeed is an act of worship, 
and so accounted in Scripture, as in that expres- 
sion. Thou shaltfear the Lord thy God^ and shalt 
swear by his name. Its use in human affairs is 
very great, w^hen mxanaged with judgment. It may 
be applied, and indeed has been commonly used 
(1) in the contracts of independent states, who 
have no common earthly superior. In ancient 
times it w^as usual always to close national treaties 
by mutual oaths. This form is not so common 
in modern times, yet the substance remains ; for 



132 LEGTURES ON 

an appeal is always supposed to be made to God, 
against the breach of public faith. 

(2.) It has been adopted by all nations, in their 
administration of justice, in order to discover 
truth. The most common and universal applica- 
tion of it has been to add greater solemnity to the 
testimony of witnesses. It is, also sometimes m^ade 
use of with the parties themselves, for conviction 
or purgation. The laws of every country point 
out the cases in which oaths ai'e required or ad- 
mitted in public judgment. It is, however, lavvful 
and in common practice, for private persons, vo- 
luntarily, on solemn occasions, to confirm Vvhat 
they say, by oath. Persons entering on public of- 
fices are also often obliged to make oath, that they 
will faithfully execute their trust. 

Oaths are commxonly divided into two kinds, 
assertoryaxid promissory — Those called j&wr^a^6>rz/ 
fall under the first of these divisions. There is 
perhaps little necessity for a division of oaths, for 
they do not properly stand by themselves; they 
are confirmations and appendages of contracts, and 
intended as an additional security for sincerity, in 
the commerce between man and man. 

Therefore oaths are subject to all the same re- 
gulations as contracts; or rather oaths are only 
lawful, when they are in r.id or confirmation of a 
lawful contract. What therefore voids the one, 
will void the other, and nothing else. A contract 
otherwise unlawful, cannot be made binding by an 
oath: but there must be a very great caution used 
not to make any unlawful contract > much less to 
^jonfirm it by an. oath* 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 133 

It is easy to see the extreme absurdity of our 
being obliged to fulfil a criminal engagement by 
oath, for it would imply, that out of reverence to 
God we ought to break his commands ; but no-^ 
thing can be more aborriinable, than the principle 
of those who think they may safely take an unlaw- 
ful oath, because it is not binding : this is aggra- 
vating gross injustice by deliberate profanity. 

I have said that oaths are appendages to all law- 
ful contracts; but in assertory oaths, which are on- 
ly confirmations of our general obligation to sin- 
cerity, it is necessary not only that what we say be 
true, but that the occasion be of sufficient mo- 
ment to require or justify a solemn appeal to God. 
Swearing on common occasions is unnecessary, 
msh, profane, and destructive of the solemnity of 
an oath and its real use. 

From the general rule laid down, that oaths are 
lawful when applied to lawful contracts, it will 
follow that they become unlawful only, when the 
fulfilling of them would be violating a perfect 
right ; but perhaps an additional observation is ne- 
cessary here. Contracts must be fulfilled, when 
they violate an imperfect right; whereas some 
oaths may be found criminal and void, though 
they are only contrary to imperfect rights : as for 
example, some persons bind themselves rashly by 
oath, that they will never speak to or forgive their 
children, v/ho have offended them. This is so 
jEvidentiy criminal, that nobody will plead for its 
being obligatory, and yet it is but the violation of 
jan imperfect right. The same persons, however, 
might in many ways alienate their property to the 
prejudice of their children, by contracts which the 
Jaw would oblige them to fulfil. 



134 LECTURES ON 

In vows there is no party but God and the 
person himself who makes the vow : for this rea- 
son, Mr. Hutchinson relaxes their obligation very 
much. — Supposing any person had solemnly 
vowed to give a certain part of his substance to 
public, or pious uses, he says, if he finds it a great 
inconvenience to himself or family, he is not 
bound; this I apprehend is too lax. Men ought 
to be cautious in making such engagements ; but 
I apprehend that when made, if not directly crimi- 
nal, they ought to be kept. 

Of the use of Symbols in Contracts. 

Besides promises and oaths, there is sometimes 
in contracts a use of other visible signs called 
symbols ; the m.ost common am^ong us are signing 
and sealing a written deed. There is also, in some 
places, the delivery of earth and stone in making 
over land — and sundry others. In ancient times 
it was usual to have solemn symbols in all trea- 
ties — mutual gifts — sacrifices-— feasts— setting up 
pillars—The intention of all such things, when- 
ever and wherever they have been practised, is 
the same. It is to ascertain and keep up the me- 
mory of the transaction. They were more fre- 
quent and solemn in ancient times than now, be- 
cause before the invention of vvriting they were 
more necessary. 

Of the Value of Property. 

Before we finish the subject of contracts, it may 
be proper to say a little of the nature and value 
of property, which is the subject of them. No- 
thing has any real value unless it be of some use 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 135 

in human life, or perhaps we may say, unless it 
is supposed to be of use, and so becomes the ob- 
ject of human desire — because at particular times, 
and in particular places, things of very little real 
importance acquire a value, which is commonly 
temporary and changeable. Shells and baubles are 
of great value in some places ; perhaps there are 
^ome more baubles highly valued in every place. 

But though it is their use in life that gives 
things their value in general, it does not follow 
that those things that are of most use and ne- 
cessity, are therefore of greatest value as property, 
or in commerce. Air and water, perhaps we may 
add fire, are of the greatest use and necessi- 
ty ; but they are also in greatest plenty, and there- 
fore are of little value as a possession or property. 
Value is in proportion to the plenty of any com- 
modity, and the demand for it. The one taken in 
the inverse, and the other in the direct proportion. 

Hence it follows that money is of no real value. 
It is not wealth properly, but the sign of it, and in 
a fixed state of society the certain means of pro- 
curing it. In early times, traffic was carried on by 
exchange of goods — but being large, not easily 
divided or transported, thjy became very trou- 
blesome. Therefore it soon became necessary to 
fix upon some sign of wealth, to be a standard 
by which to rate different commodities. 

Any thing that is fit to answer the purpose of 
a common sign of wealth must have the follow- 
ing properties: It must be (1) valuable, that is, 
have an intrinsic comm^ercial value, and rare, 
otherwise it could have no comparative value at 
all. (2.) Durable, otherwise it could not pass from 



136 LECTURES ON | 

hand to hand. (3.) Divisible, so that it might be j 
in larger or smaller quantities as are required. (4.) ] 
Portable, it must not be of great size, othervrise j 
it would be extremelv inconvenient. ! 

Gold and silver were soon found to have all i 
these properties, and therefore are fixed upon as | 
the sign of wealth. But besides being the sign of ^ 
the value of other commodities, they themselAcs ; 
aie also matters of commerce, and therefore in- 
crease or decrease in their value by their plenty or 
scarceness. 

It may seem to belong to the ruling part of any 
society to fix the value of gold and silver, as signs 
of the value of commodities— and no*doubt they \ 
do fix it nominally in their dominions. But in this ! 
they are obliged to be strictly attentive to the vahie I 
of these metals as a commodity, from their plenty i 
or scarceness, otherwise their regulations will be I 
of little force- — other nations will pay no regard . 
to the nominal value of any particular country, ' 
and even in internal commerce, the subject would | 
fix a value upon the signs according to their l 
plenty. 

It is as prejudicial to commerce to make the i 
nominal value of the coin of any country too small I 
as too great. 

We shall close this part of the subject by speak- 
ing a little of the 

Rights of Necessity^ and common Rights. 

These are certain powers assumed both by pri- 
vate persons and communities, which ai'C sup- 
posed to be authorised by .the necessity , of . the 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. 13? 

^ case, and supported by the great law of reason a 
There will remain a great number of cases in 
which those rights of necessity are to be used, 
even in the best regulated civil society, and after 
the most mature deliberation and foresight of pro- 
bable events, and provision for them by specific 
laws. 

Were a man perishing with hunger, and de- 
nied food by a person who could easily aftord it 
him, here the rights of necessity v. ould justify 
him in taking it by violence. Were a city on fire, 
and the blowing up of an house would save the 
far greater part, though the owner was unwilling, 
men would think themselves justified in doing 
it, whether he would or not. Much more would 
men, in cases of urgent necessity, make free vrith 
the property of others, vvdthout asking their con- 
sent, but presuming upon it. 

In our owoi government, where, by the love of 
liberty general among the people, and the nature 
of the constitutions, as many particulars have been 
determined by special laws as in any government 
p, in the world — ^}'et instances of the rights of neces- 
sity occur every day. If I see one man rob an- 
i other upon the highway, or am informed of it, if 
I have courage and ability I pursue the robber, 
and apprehend him without any warrant, and car- 
ry him before a magistrate, to get a w^arrant for 
what I have already done. Nothing is more com- 
mon in Britain than to force people to sell their 
inheritance, or a part of it, to make a road or street 
strait or comm.odious. In this instance it is not 
so much necessity as great utilitv. 
i ^ N . ^ . 



ISS LECTURES ON 

The question of the greatest moment here is, 
whether the establishing these rights of necessity- 
does not derogate from the perfection and immu- 
tabiUty of the moral laws. If it be true, that we 
may break in upon the laws of justice for the sake 
of utility, is not this admitting the exploded max- 
im, that we may do evil that good may come. I 
answer, that these rights of necessity have in ge- 
neral pix)perty as their object, or at most the life 
of particular persons — and it seems to be insepa- 
rable from the establishment of property in the so- 
cial state, that our property is to be held only in 
such manner^ and to such a degree, as to be both 
consistent with, and subservient to, the good of 
others. And therefore these extraordinary cases 
are agreeable to the tacit or implied conditions of 
the social contract. 

In rights of necessity we are to consider not only 
the present good or evil, but for all time to come, 
and pai'ticularly the safety or danger of the exam- 
ple. Where the repetition of the thing in similar 
circumstances would have a fatal effect, it ought 
not to be done. If a city were under all the 
miseries of famine, and a ship or two should ar- 
rive with grain, the owner of which would not 
sell it but at a most exorbitant price, perhaps 
equity might admit that they should be compelled; 
but if any such thing were done, it would prevent 
others from going near that place jagain. 

It would be of no consequence to determine 
these rights of necessity by law. If the law de- 
scribed circumstantially what might be done, it 
would be no longer a right of necessity^ but a le- 
gal right. To forbid them by law would be either 



MORAL PHILOSOPHY. lo9 

ineffectual^ or it would abolish them altogether, 
and deprive the society of the benefit of them when 
the cases should occur. Things done by the rights 
of necessity are by supposition illegal, and if the 
necessity does not excuse, the person who pre- 
tends them may be punished. If I am aiding in 
pulling down a man's house on pretence of stop- 
ping a fire, if he afterwards makes it appear that 
there was not the least occasion for it, or that I,. 
being his enemy, took the opportunity of this pre- 
tence to injure him, he will obtain repar?ttion. 

As property, or at most life, is concerned in 
the rights of necessity — still the moral law^s conti- 
nue in force. Whatever expresses an evil dispo- 
sition of mind does not fall under the rule, be- 
cause it can never be necessary to the doing of 
any good. The pretence of its being necessary in 
some cases is generally chimerical, and even w^ere 
it real, the necessity could not justify the crime — 
as suppose a robber very profane should threaten 
a man with death, unless he Vv ould blaspheme God 
or curse his parents, &c.^ 

There are certain things called common rights> 
which the public is supposed to have over every 
member: the chief of them are (1) diligence. As 
a man must eat, the community have a right to 
compel him to be useful — ^and have a right to 
make laws against suicide^ (2.) They have a right 
to the discovery of useful inventions, provided an 
adequate price be paid to the discoverer. (3. ) They 
have a right to insist upon such things as belong 
to the dignity of human nature. Thus all nations 
pay respect to dead bodies, though there is no 
1 other reason for it but that we cannot help associ- 



140 LECTURES ON 

ating with the body, even dead, the ideas which i 
arise from it, and belonged to the whole person i 
when alive. 

3. The third and last object of civil laws is, li- J 
miting citizens in the exercise of their rights, so ] 
that they may not be injurious to one another, but 
that the public good may be promoted. 

This includes the giving directions in what way 
arts and commerce may be carried on, and in some i 
states extends as far as the possessions of private i 
persons. 

It includes the whole of what is called the po- I 
lice of a com.munity — the manner of travelling, ; 
building, marketing, time and manner of holding i 
all sorts of assemblies — In arts and commerce, ! 
particularly, the police shows its power. | 

It will only be necessary here to make a few re- 
marks on the nature and spirit of those laws. 

1. Those things in themselves are arbitrary, and 
mutable, for there is no morality in them but 
what arises from common utility. We may some- 
times do things in a way better than that appoint- 
ed by law, and yet it is not allov/ed. j 

2. Men in general have but a very light sense of 
the malignity of transgressing these laws, such as 
running of goods, breaking over a fence, &c. j | 

3. In the best constitutions some sanctions are j 
appointed for the breach of these laws. Wher- j 
ever a state is founded upon the principles of li- | 
berty, such laws are made with severity, and exe- j 
cuted with strictness. i 

Finally, a man of real probity and virtue adopts \ 

these lav/s as a part of his duty to God and the so- j 

ciety, and is subject not only for wrath, but also j 

for conscience sake. ! 



l^rOKAV PHILOSOPHY, 14 K 

RECAPITULATION. 

Having gone through the three general divisions 
of this subject, Ethics, Politics, and Jurispru- 
dence, I shall conclude with a hw remarks upon 
the whole, and mention to you the chief writers,, 
who have distinguished themselves in this branch 
of science. 

1. You may plainly perceive both how exten- 
sive and how important moral philosophy is. As 
to extent, each of the divisions we have gone 
through might have been treated at far greater 
length. Nor would it be unprofitable to en» 
ter into a fuller disquisition o£ many points; but 
this must be left to every scholar's inclination and 
opportunities in future life. Its importance is ma- 
nifest from this circumstance, that it. not onl}^ 
points out personal duty, but is related to the 
whole business of. active life.. The languages, and 
even mathematical and natural knowledge, are but 
hard words to this superior science. 

2. The evidence which attends moral disquisi- 
tions is of a different kind from that which attends 
mathematics and natural philosophy ; but it re- 
mains as a point to be discussed, whether it is 
more uncertain or not. At first sight it appears 
tiiat authors differ nmch more, and more essenti- 
ally, on the principles of moral than natural phi- 
losophy. Yet perhaps a time may come when men, 
treating moral philosophy as Newton and his suc- 
cessors have done natural, may arrive at greater 
precision. It is always safer in our reasonings to 
trace facts upwards, than to reason down wards^ 
upon metaphysical principles. An attempt has 

N 2 



142 LECTURES ON 

been lately made by Beatty, in his Essay on Truth, 
to estPiblish certain impressions of common sense 
as axioms and first principles of all our reasonings 
on moral subjects. 

3. The differences about the nature of virtue 
are not in fact so great as they appear: they 
amount to nearly the same thing in the issue, 
when the pai ticulars of a virtuous life come to be 
enumerated. 

4. The different foundations of virtue are ma- 
ny of them not opposite or repugnant to each 
other, but parts of one great plan — as benevolence 
and self-love. &c. They all conspire to found real 
virtue : the authoritv of God — the dictates of con- 
science — public happiness and private interest, all 
coincide. 

5. There is nothing certain or valuable in mo- 
ral philosophy, but what is perfectly coincident 
with the scripture, where the glory of God is the 
first principle of action, arising from the sub- 
jection of the creature — where the good of others 
is the great object of duty, and our own interest 
the necessary consequence. 

In the first dawn of philosophy, men began to 
write and dispute about virtue. The great inqui- 
ry among the ancients was, wlmtv.as the sum?num 
bonuin ? b)^ which it seems they took it for grant- 
ed, tliat virtue and happiness were the same thing. 
The chief combatants here were the stoics and 
epicureans. The first insisted that virtue was the 
summum bonum,that pleasure was no good, and 
pain no evil: the other said that the summum bo- 
num consisted in pleasure, or rather that pleasure 
was virtue : the academics and Platonists went a 
middle way between these. 



' MORAL PHILOSOPHY. l4o 

I am not sensible that there is any thing among 
the ancients, that wholly corresponds with the mo- 
dern dispute upon the foundation of virtue. 

Since the disputes arose in the sixteenth and 
seventeenth centuries, some of the most consider- 
able authors, chiefly British, are, Leibnitz, his 
Theodicee, and his letters. Clark's demonstration, 
and his letters. Hutchinson's inquiries into the 
ideas of beauty and virtue,, and his system. Wol- 
laston's religion of nature delineated. Collins on 
human liberty. Nettleton on virtue and happiness. 
David Hume's essays. Lord Kaims's essays. 
Smith's theory of moral sentiraentSc, Reexl's in- 
quiry. Balfour's delineation of morality. But- 
ler's analogy and sermons. Balguy's.tracts. The- 
ory of agreeable sensations, from the French. 
Beatty on truth. Essay on virtue and hai^mony. 

To these may be added the whole deistical wri^ 
ters, and the answers written to each of them in 
particular, a brief account of which may be seen 
m Leland's view of the deistical writers. 

Some of the chief writers upon government and 
politics are, Grotius, Puffendorf, Barberac, Cum- 
berland, Selden, Burlamaqui, Hobbes, Machiavel, 
Harrington, Locke, Sydney , and some late books ;^ 
Montesquieu's spirit of laws ; Ferguson's history 
of civil society ; Lord Kaims's political essays ;. 
Grandeur and decay of the Roman empire ; Mon- 
tague's rise and fall of ancient republics; Goguet's 
rise and progress of law^s, arts and sciences. 



144 LECTURES ON 



^^4ectures 



ON 




ELOQUENCE. 



GENTLEiVtEN, 

WE are now to enter on the study of eloquence^ 
or as perhaps it ought to be called, from the man- 
ner in which you will find it treated, Composition, 
Taste and Criticism.. 

Eloquence is undoubtedly a very noble art, and 
when possessed in a high degree, has been, I 
think, in all ages^ one of the most admired and 
envied talents. It has not only been admired in 
all ages, but, if I am not mistaken, among all 
ranks. Its power is universally felt, and there- 
fore probably the talent more universally esteem- 
ed,, than either genius, or improvement in several 
other kinds of human excellence. Military skill 
and political wisdom, have their admirers, but far 
inferior in number to those who admire, envy, or 
would wish to imitate, him that has the power of 
persuasion. 

Plato, in his republic, or idea of a well regulated 
state, has banished orators, under pretence that 
th eir power over the minds of men is dangerous 



ELOqUENCE. 145 

and liable to abuse. Some moderns have adopted 
the same sentiments. 

Sir Thomas More, in his Utopia I believe, 
(though I am not certain) has embraced it. But 
this is a manner of thinking and reasoning altoge- 
ther superficial. It would militate equally against 
all culti^ ation of the mind, and indeed agamst 
every human excellence, natural and acquired. 
They are, and have been, and may be abused, by 
men of vicious dispositions. But how shall this be 
prevented? It is impossible. How shall it be coun- 
teracted? Only by assisting the good in the culti- 
vation of their powers, and then the same weapons 
will be used in defence of truth and virtue, with 
much greater advantage than they crai be in sup- 
port of falsehood and vice. Learning in general, 
possessed by a bad man, is unspeakably pernici- 
ous, and that very thing has sometimes made weak 
people speak against learning; but it is just as 
absurd, as if in the confines of a country exposed 
to hostile inroads the inhabitants should say, we 
will build no forts for protection, because if the 
enemy get into possession of them they will be- 
come the means of annovance : we will use no 
arms for defence, for if the enemy take them from 
us, they Vvdll be turned against us. 

Perhaps it may be proper to take notice of what 
the apostle Paul says, in his first epistle to the 
Corinthians, in several places, particularly from 
the beginning of the 2d chapter, '' and I brethren,'' 
&c. and in the 4th chap. 11 verse, '' And my 
speech, and my preaching was not," &c. I have 
mentioned this, to prevent any of you mistaking 
or being prejudiced against the subject, and shall 



146 LECTURES ON 

observe upon it, that the meaning of the apostle, 
in this and other similar passages, is fully com- 
prehended in one or more of the following parti- 
culars. (1) That he came not to the Corinthians 
with an artful delusive eloquence, such as the so- 
phists of these days made use of to vai'nish over 
their foolish sentiments. (2) That he came not 
to show his skill in speaking for and against any 
thing, as many of them did, not to discover or 
communicate truth, but to display their own ta- 
lents. (3) That the truths he had to communicate 
needed no ornaments to set them off, and were 
not by any means adapted to the proud spirit of 
the world: and, (4) that he v/ould use the grea- 
test self-denial, and not by any means attempt to 
recommend himself as a man of ability and learn- 
ing, but content himself with the humble and 
simple doctrine of the cross. And the truth is, 
after the highest improvement in the art of speak- 
ing, there must be the greatest reserve and self- 
denial in the use of it, otherw^ise it will defeat its 1 
own purpose. Rhetoricians do usually give it 
among the very precepts of the art, to appeal^ to 
be in earnest, and to have the subject or the in- 
terest of the audience at heart, and not their own 
fame; and this can never be attained to so great 
perfection as when there is the humility of a true 
disciple, and the disinterested zeal of a faithful 
minister of Christ. That this is not contrary to 
the most diligent application for the improvement 
of our powders is manifest in itself, and appears 
from the many exhortations of the same apostle to 
his young disciples, Timothy and Titus, 1 Tim,. 



ELOQUEXCE. 147 

iv. 13. " tin I come, give attendance," &c. and 
V. 15. " meditate," &c. 

I know not whether any apology is necessary 
for my undertaking to speak on this subject, or 
the manner of treating it. Some may expect that 
discourses on eloquence should be distinguished 
examples of the art of which they treat. Such 
may just be pleased to observe, that a cool, plain, 
and simple manner of speaking is necessary in 
teaching this, as well as every other art. No 
doubt, a justness and precision of expression will 
be of great benefit in these discourses, but there 
will be no need of that high and complete polish, 
thatmight beexpected inwhat isprepai^edfor publi- 
cation. Nor would the same brevity and concise- 
ness be any advantage to discourses once deliver- 
ed, that would be reckoned a beauty in what is in 
every body's hands, and therefore may be often 
read. 

Before entering on the strict and methodical 
discussion of the subject, I have commonly begun 
the course by two or three preliminary discour- 
ses, containing such general observations as may 
be most intelligible, and may serve to prepai^e 
the way for what shall be afterwards introduced. 

The subject of the first preliminary discourse 
shall be the following question ; whether does art 
or nature contribute most to the production of a 
complete orator? 

This is a question often asked, and many things 
have been said upon it; yet to discuss it as a mat- 
ter of controversy, and adduce the ai'guments on 
each side, in order to a decision in favour of the 
one, and prejudice of the other, I take to be of ve= 



148 LECTURES ON 

ry little consequence, or rather improper and ab- 
surd. It seems to be just as if one should propose 
an inquiry, whether the soil, the climate, or the 
culture, contributes most to the production of the 
crop ? Therefore, instead of treating the question 
as if one side of it were true, and the other false, 
I shall make a few observations on the mutual in- 
fluence of nature and art, in order to vour form- 
ing just apprehensions of the subject, and to di- 
rect you in your future conduct and studies. 

1. Some degree of natural capacity is evidently 
necessary to the instruction or study of this art, 
in order to produce any effect. A skilful labour- 
er may subdue a very stubborn, or meliorate a 
very poor soil ; but when there is no soil at all, as 
on a bare and solid rock, his labour would be im- 
possible or fruitless. There must therefore doubt- 
less be some capacity, in general, and even some 
turn for this very branch of knowledge. In this 
sense it is true of every other art^ as well as orato- 
ry, a man must be born to it. 

There are some so destitute of oratorical pow- 
ers, that nothing can possibly be made of them. 
It will be strange, however, if this is not easily 
discovered by themselves, and if it does not 
make the study as unpleasant as it is difficult, so that 
they will speedily give it over. I have known some 
examples, but very few, of ministers, whose prin- 
cipal defect was mere barrenness of invention. 
This isexceedmgly rare, because the far greatest 
number of bad speakers have enough to say, such 
as it is, and generally the more absurd and inco- 
herent, the greater the abundance. 



ELOQUENCE. 149 

When speaking on this observation, I must 
make one remark, that a total want of capacity for 
one branch of science is not inconsistent even with 
a great capacity for another. We sometimes see 
great mathematicians who make miserable orators. 
Nay it is reckoned by some of the best judges 
that this study is unfriendly to oratory. The defi- 
nite precision of mathematical ideas, which may 
all be ultimately referred to mensuration, seems 
to be contrary to the freedom and boldness of im- 
agination, in which the strength of oratory lies. 
There are, however, exceptions to this in fact. 
Pr. Clark and Dr. Barrow, two of the most em- 
inent mathematicians of the last age^ were also 
eminent orators, that is to say, the first was a very 
accurate writer, the other a very fervent preacher. 

I have only further to observe, that many have 
thought academical teaching not to be favourable 
to^ratory; that is to say, those who are accus- 
tomed to the cool dispassionate manner of speak- 
ing, usual and necessary in the instruction of 
youth, frequently lose a good deal of that fire and 
impetuosity which they might naturally possess, 
and which is of so much importance in speaking 
to a large and promiscuous assembly. 

2. To make what is called a complete orator, 
very great natural powers are necessary, and great 
cultivation too. The truth is, when we speak of a 
complete orator, we generally form an idea of per- 
fection superior to any thing that ever existed, by 
assembling together all the excellencies of every 
kind that have been seen in different persons, or 
that we are able, from what we have seen, to 

O 



150 LECTURES ON 

form an imagination of. We can easily enume- 
rate many of these; for example, great penetration 
of mind — great literature and extensive knowledge 
— a strong and lively imagination reined in by a 
correctness of judgment, a rich invention, and re- 
tentive memory, tenderness and sensibility of af- 
fection, an acquaintance with the world, and a 
thorough knowledge of the human heart. To 
these we must add all external perfections, an o- 
pen countenance, a graceful carriage, a clear arti- 
culate strong melodious voice. There is not one 
of these but is capable of great improvement by 
application and study, as well as by much prac- 
tice. In all the great orators of v/hom we read, 
there appears to have been an union of natural ta- 
lents ^nd acquired skill, Pericles, Demosthenes, 
Cicero, Hortentius. To these you may add all 
the speakers mentioned by Cicero and Quintilian, 
taking their talents and performances to have been 
as related by these authors. 

3. Perhaps the most extraordinary appearances 
in this, as well as in other branches, have been 
from nature wholly, or but with little study. 
These spontaneous productions areas so many pro- 
gies. It is commonly believed that the orators and 
sages, at the first formation of society, were more 
powerful in their elocution than in more polish- 
ed times. This, however, I am apt to think, is in 
some degree founded on a mistake. There might 
be more extraordinary effects of eloquence, be- 
cause the ignorant or superstitious herd were then 
more easily moved, but this was as much owing 
to the state of the audience, as the power of the 
speakers. The same fire, that would burn a heap 
of dry brush, would not make any impression upon 



ELOQUENCE. 151 

a heap of green logs. It might also be owing to 
another circumstance, which I shall have occasion 
afterwards to explain more fully, the narrowness of 
language, and the use of figures, which have so 
great an effect upon the imagination. 

But allowing very great force to uncultiva- 
ted prodigies of genius in every kind, I am apt to 
think it is less powerful, comparatively speaking, 
in oratory than in poetry. It has been an old say- 
ing, Poeta nascitur, & non fit. There are two rea- 
sons why the poetry of nature, without art, seems 
to be so much admired. 1. That in such a poet a 
strongunbounded fancy must be the prevailing cha- 
racter, and this is what chiefly captivates the mind. 
It must be a very strong inward impulse that in- 
duces a man to become a poet, without example, 
and without instruction. 2. It is found in fact that 
the knowledge of the rules of art some how cramps 
and deters the mind, and restrains that boldness, 
or happy extravagance, that gives such general 
delight. It is an observation of an ingenious au- 
thor, that in no polished nation, after the rules of 
criticism were fully settled and generally under- 
stood, was there ever any great work of genius 
produced. This, however, must be understood 
chiefly of what are called the higher species of po- 
etry, epic poetry, and tragedy, and for the reasons 
just now given, it must be so in them. Homer is 
the grerit poet of nature, and it is generally thought 
that there is greater fire in him than in Virgil, 
just because he lived at a time when the rules of 
writing were unknown. The same thing is said of 
Shakespear, of our own country, and perhaps the 
late discovered poeais of Ossian may be consider- 



152 LECTURES ON 

ed as another example. After all, perhaps the com- 
parison made between the effects of nature and 
art is at bottom wrong, and that they produce 
beauties of different kinds — A wild uncultivated 
forest, a vast precipice, or steep cataract or water- 
fall, is supposed to be an object more august and 
striking, than any ornam^ents produced by human 
skill. The order and symmetry, how^ever, of ai^chi- 
tecture and gardening are highly pleasing, and 
ought not properly to be compared with the other, 
as pleasing the imagination in a different degree, 
so much as in a different kind. 

The effects of the poetiy of nature, therefore, in 
one view are very great, and continue to be so in 
all ages, because they touch the soul in one way, 
which continues to be universally felt: but I doubt 
much whether eloquence ever arrived at much 
excellence, without considerable study, or at least 
previous patterns, on which to form. The first 
great poets were before all criticism, and before 
even the polishing of human manners; but the 
first great orators appeared in improved, civilized 
states, and were the consequence of the knowledge 
of mankind, and the study of the human heait. 

4. When persons are meanly qualified in point 
of natural capacity for any art, it is not very pro- 
per to attempt to instruct them in it. It is not 
only difficult to instruct those w^ho have a radical 
incapacity for any stud), but sometimes they ai'C 
much the worse for application^ just as fine clothes 
and a courtly dress upon a clown render him 
unspeakably ridiculous. Some, who ai'e utterly 
void of taste for speaking, after long study, and 
sometimes even by great literature, become more 



ELOqtJENCE, too 

obscure, more tedious, and more given to swell- 
ing and bombast, than the most unculti\ ated per- 
son in the world. The want of a fund of good 
sense and genuine taste makes ignorant persons 
fools, and scholars pedants. A plain man will tell 
you of taking a purge or a dose of physic, and 
you neither mistake him nor laugh at him. A 
quack of a physician will tell you of a mucilagi- 
nous decoction, to smooth the acid particles, and 
carry off the acrimonious matter that corrodes and 
irritates the internal coats of the stomach. 

5. In the middle regions of genius, there are 
often to be found those who reap the greatest be- 
nefit from education and study. They improve 
their powers by exercise, and it is surprising to 
think what advances are to be made by the force 
of resolution and application. I might give you 
many examples of this in the annals of literature ; 
but the one most suited to our purpose is, that De- 
mosthenes himself is said at first to have laboured 
under almost insuperable difficulties; it is said he 
could not evenpronounce at first all the letters of the 
Greek alphabet, particularly the letter R, the first 
letter of his art, as the critics have called it. 

Persons of the middle degrees of capacity do 
also, perhaps generally, fill the most useful and 
important stations in human life. A very great 
genius is often like a ver}'- fine flow^er, to be 
wondered at, but of little service either for food or 
medicine. A very great genius is also often ac- 
companied with certain irregularities, so that we 
only consider v/ith regret what he mught have been, 
if the lively sallies of his imagination had been 

o 2 



156 LECTURES ON 

adhered to truth and nature, we cannot tell, be- 
cause we have no other way of knowing the 
manners and customs of his times but from what 
he has written. 

The powers of mankind, however, are certainly 
the same in all ages, but change of circumstances 
may <:reate diversity in the appearance and pro- 
ductions of genius. These circumstances tend to 
produce excellence of different kinds. The bold- 
ness, and almost excessive flights of imagination, 
in uncultivated times, give way to beauties of a 
different nature^ to order, judgment and precision. 
A masterly judgment will endeavour to understand 
the reasons on both sides. It is certain, however, 
that there are great and excellent patterns to form 
upon both ancient and modern. And it is very 
proper for young persons to read authors, after 
they have heard criticisms and remarks made up- 
on them. These criticisms you may take at first 
either from books or conversation. Try if you 
can observe the genius^ or peculiar and charac- 
teristic turn of an author, not only his excellencies, 
but wherein they are peculiar to him, and differ- 
ent from those of others. Cicero is flowing, fer- 
vent, ornate — somewhat vain and ostentatious, 
but masterly in his way* Demosthenes is simple, 
close, nervous, rapid and irresistible. Livy has a 
bewitching knack of telling a story ^ he is so ex- 
pressive and descriptive, that one cannot help be- 
ing pleased with it, even after several times read- 

Sallust excels in giving characters, which he 
strikes off in single epithets, or very concise re- 
marks. Tacitus is chiefly remarkable for judici- 



ELOQUENCE 157 

ous and sagacious observations on human life ; 
and Xenophon is superior to almost every author 
in dignity, elegance, and sweetness in the narra- 
tion. 

Of modem authors in our own language, Mr. 
Addison is a noble pattern of elegance, dignity 
and simplicity. Swift, in his political pieces, writes 
with great strength and force, and is perhaps a 
pattern of style, which has scarcely been exceed- 
ed since his time. Hervey, in his Meditations, has 
a great deal of very lively and animated descrip- 
tion, but it is so highly ornamented, that it is 
somewhat dangerous in the imitation. Dr. Ro- 
bertson, in his history, has as just a mixture of 
strength and elegance, as any other author I know 
in the English language. I cannot help here cau- 
tioning you against one modern author of some 
eminence, Johnson, the author of the Rambler. 
He is so stiff and abstracted in his manner, and 
such a lover of hard W'ords, that he is the worst 
pattern for young persons that can be named. 

It has bjeen given sometimes as a rule, to form 
one's self upon a particular author, v/ho may be 
most agreeable to a student's taste, and perhaps 
congenial (if I may speak so) to his capacity. It 
is pretty common to fall into this without design, 
by a natural propensity. It is said that Demosthe- 
nes wrote over the history of Thucydides eight 
times, that he might the more effectually form 
himself to his style and manner. I cannot say I 
would recommend this ; it seems to be too much 
honour to give to any one person. I would not 
be guilty of idolatry of any kind. A comprehen- 
sive knowledge of many authors, or at least a 



158 LECTURES ON 



considerable number of the best, is certainly far 
preferable. If there be any advantage in particu- 
lax imitation, it is, that it is the easiest way of com- - 
ing to a fixed or formed style. One will soon run 
into an imitation of an author with whom he is \ 
much conversant, and of whom he is a great admi- | 
rer, and in this view, to some persons of moderate ; 
capacity, it may not be an improper method. But | 
persons of real and original genius should be ra- ^ 
ther above such a practice, as it will certainly j 
make them fall short of what they would other- j 
wise attain. \ 

To this we may add, that particular imitation \ 
isliable to several very great dangers. ( 1 ) It leads to j 
servility of imitation. Such person often may be | 
said to borrow the piece, instead of imitating the ; 
pattern. When a servile imitation is perceived, ( 
which it always will be, it is certain to be despi- \ 
sed. Even a manner ever so excellent, if merely a ; 
copy, brings no credit to a speaker. And if a wri- \ 
ter retail the very sentiments and language of ano- 
ther, it is considered as an absurdity. (2) Ser- 
vile imitation leads to copying defects. There 
neither is, nor ever was, any speaker or writer free 
from defects or blemishes of some kind. Yet ser- 
vile imitators never fail to copy the defects as well 
as beauties. I should suppose that any one, who 
made Cicero his particular model, Vv'ould very 
probably transfuse a proportion of his vanity and 
ostentation, and probably more of that than of his 
fire. 

But of all sorts of imitation, the most dangerous 
is the imitation of living speakers, and yet to this 
young scholars are most prone, some timesby design. 



ELOQUENCE. 159 

' and sometimes quite insensibly. Itis attended in the 
highest degree M'ith the disadvantage of copying de- 
fects. In living speakers, there are not only peculiari. 
ties of style and blemishes in composition to copy, 
but inlooks, tone and gesture. It is a matter of con- 
stant experience, that imitators catch the blemish- 
es easiest, and retain them longest. And it is to 
be observed, that defects, when they are natural 
and undesigned, appear very inconsiderable; but 
when they are copied and adopted voluntarily, we 
cannot help depising the folly and absurdity of 
one that judges so ill. Further, when defects are 
occasional and undesigned, they are generally in- 
considerable ; but when they are copied, they are 
commonly aggravated and over- charged, and so ap- 
pear quite monstrous. This must be so; for 
even the very best manner looks silly in the imi- 
tator, although just and graceful in the original. 

2. An excellent general rule is to accustom 
yourselves early and much to composition, and 
exercise in pronunciation. Practice is necessary 
in order to learn any thing to perfection.* There is 
something to be learned from practice, which no 
instruction can impart. It is so in every other art 
as well as this — mathematics, geometrj^, and in 
navigation ; after you have learned the theory in 
the most perfect manner, there is still a nameless 

|isomething, which nothing but experience can be- 
stow. You must not wait till you are masters of 
the rules of art before you begin to put them 
in practice. Exercise must go hand in hand with 
instruction, that the one may give meaning, force 
and direction to the other. I do not mean that you 
should be fond of entering very soon upon reai 



160 LECTURES Ojr 

life, but that you should be assiduous in prepara- 
tory exercises. This is a rule given by Cicero, in 
his book De Oratore, which he reckons of great 
importance — Scribendum quam plurimum^ and he 
declares it to have been his own practice. 

Since we are upon private exercise of compo- 
sition, it may perhaps give you a clearer view of 
the matter to mention some of the various ways 
in which it may be separately tried. It may be 
tried in translation, perhaps it may be best to try 
it first here. Translation will accustom you to at- | 
tend to the various idioms of language, and to un- i 
derstand the genius of your own language: for I 
when translating you will speedily find, that to ren- 
der out of any one language into another ad ver- 
bum, w^ould be very sorry composition. It may j 
be tried also in narration. This I think should be i 
the next step to translation, to learn to give a na- I 
ked account of facts with simplicity and precision, i 
This, also, though certainly in itself more obvious I 
and easier than some other kinds, yet it is by no i 
means so easy as some imagine. Imitation of a i 
particular passage or composition of some author, j 
by writing upon something quite similar, may 
perhaps be the next in order. To understand what 1 
this is, you need only look into an admirable ex- i 
ample of it in poetry, Mr. Pope's imitation of a sa- j 
tire in Horace, beginning Quae virtus & quanta, j 
&c. After this comes description, painting scenes, i 
or drawing characters. Then argumentation, j 
And, lastly, persuasion. I believe it wouldbeagreat i 
improvement of the laudable practice in this col- \ 
lege of daily orations, if they were chosen with j 
more judgment, and better suited to the perform- \ 



ELOQUENCE. 161 

ers. Almost all the pieces we have delivered to 
us are of the last or highest kind, warm passion- 
sionate declamations. It is no wonder that some 
should perform these ill, who have never tried 
theplainer manner of simple narration. Supposing 
a student to have tried all these ways of compo- 
sition for his own improvement, would he not be 
by that means sensible in what way he is most 
able to excel ? as also having made trial of them 
separately, he is more able to vary his diction, and 
. give compass to his discourse upon a general sub- 
ject. These are like an analysis or simple divi- 
sion of composition; and as persons read best, 
who have been first taught to resolve words into 
syllables, and syllables into letters, so the easiest 
and completest way of any to composition, is to 
begin it in this order. 

In such exercises let me by all means recom- 
mend to you, early to acquire, and always to pre- 
'- serve, a certain patience and resolution of mind, 
• which will enable you to apply with vigour, not 
^ only for a time, but to review and correct your 
' pieces, and bring them to some degree of perfec- 
: tion, and your taste to some degree of accuracy* 
] To explain this a little, there are three things e- 
qually contrary to it, and perhaps equally prejudi- 
cial. (1.) Mere weakness and want of courage, 
which, finding one attempt unsuccessful, willhard- 
ly be brought to make another. When a young 
person first goes to exercise himself in composi- 
tion, he finds the thing so uncouth and difficult, 
' that he is apt to consider it as altogether impossi- 
ble. (2,) There is a fault contrary to this, a van- 
I ity of mindj which is so pleased with any thing it 



162 LECTURES ON 

does, as neither to see its own faults, nor be willing 
to hear them. There are some, who, from the be- 
ginning of life, think it a great pity that any of their 
productions should be blotted or erased. It is 
not to be supposed that they will make great pro- 
gress in knowledge or taste. (3.) There is ano- 
ther sort, perhaps distinct from both, who are of a 
loose, desultory disposition, so unstaid that they 
cannot spend long enough time upon any thing to 
do it well, or sometimes even to bring it to a con- 
clusion. They will begin an essay upon a subject, 
but are presently out of conceit with it, and there- 
fore will do it very carelessly, or, before it is fin- 
ished, must away to another, which struck their 
fancy more lately. 

That steady application which I have recom- 
mended some of the ancients were very remarkable 
jfor. Some of them indeed seemed to carry it to 
an excess. They would sometimes spend as much 
time in polishing an epigram, or little trifling 
panygyric, as might have been sufficient for the 
production of a work of extensive utility. How- 
ever, this is not the most common error; running 
over a great deal in a superficial way is the bane 
of composition. Horace, with his usual elegance, 
ridicules this disposition, when he says, Detur no- 
bis locus ^ &c. and somewhere else 1^ brings in a 
vain glorious poet, boasting how many verses he 
had made, or could make, while standing upon one 
foot. 



ELOQUENCE* 16c 



LECTURE III. 



IN this discourse I intend to finish what I 
began in the last, viz. laying down some general 
rules to form the taste and direct the conduct of a 
student. 

3. Be careful to acquaint yourselves well, and 
to be as perfect as possible, in the branches that 
are subordinate to the study of eloquence. These, 
because they ought to be learned in the earliest 
stages, if they are then neglected, some are un- 
willing or ashamed to go back to them. What 
I liave here in view chiefly, are the grammar, 
orthography, and punctuation of the English lan- 
guage. It is not uncommion to find orators of con- 
siderable name, both in the pulpit and at the bar, 
far from being accurate in point of grammar. This 
is evidently a very great blemish. Perhaps it may 
be occasioned in some measure by the English 
seldom or never being taught grammatically to 
children. But those who have learned the princi- 
pies of grammar, in the Greek and Latin lan- 
guages, should be more ready to attend to it. 
I am sensible that the grammar of every language 
i is ultimately fixed by custom ; with regai'd to 
which, Horace says, Quem penes arbitrium est, 
&c. But even here we must attend to the mean- 
ing of the sentiment. It is not the custom of the 
vulgar that establishes either the grammai^ or 
pronunciation of any language, but that which is 
received and established by the best writers. You 
jwill say, how do these writers determine them= 



164 LECTURES ON 1 

selves ? Are not they also guided by practice ? I 

They are in a great measure, and it is generally I 

said, that the practice of the capital of a nation, or of i 

the court in that capital, settles the grammar. This i 

must in substance be agreed to, yet judgment and \ 

analogy will frequently suggest improvements, i 

and introduce a good, or abolish an ill custom, | 

You must not suppose, that all the phrases of the I 

vulgar in London are therefore agreeable to the I 

grammar of the English, or even that at court, i 

all the nobility, male and female, speak with per- | 

feet propriety. It is in the last resort, the men of j 

literature, particularly the authors, who, taking I 

custom as a general rule, give it all the direction ] 

they can, by their reasoning and example. I 

To make you understand this by some instan- : 

ces, you see Mr. Addison, Dean Swift, and Mr. I 

Pope, have endeavoured to attend to the genius ( 

of the English language, to show where it was < 

harsh and unpolished, and where improprieties i 

might be corrected, and they have succeeded in a j 

great measure. It was observed by all those great | 

men, that the English, and all the northern Ian- i 

guages, ai'C harsh, by the numbers of consonants j 

meeting without intervening vowels, therefore, I 

that it is a great barbarism to strike out the vow- j 

els that we have, as in these words, don't, canH 1 
didn't, wouldn't, shouldn't, rebuk'd, drudg'd, 
fledg'd. Several of these words may yet be heard 
in some places, and I have even seen them in 
print in America ; but no good speaker or tolera- 
ble writer would use them in Great Britain. I 
give another example, where the sense and analo- 
gy of the word suggests the improvement. Averse, 



ELOQUENCE*. 165 

and aversion, were often formerly used with to or 
at : he is very averse to it : he has a great aversion 
at it. But as averse properly signifies turned 
away, it seems an evident improvement, to say 
averse from. What I mean by this observation, 
is to turn your attention to such remarks, when 
you. meet with them in reading or conversation. 

J will make an observation or two more. It is 
of some importance to attend to the use of words, 
nearly related, or in some degree synonymous. 
It is not uncommon to hear people say, a man is 
incident to such or such a thing — The evil is 
incident to the person — the person liable to the 
evil, or subject to it : this may be seen by the 
original meaning of the word, of Latin derivation j 
and signifies to fall upon. The word notify is of- 
ten used wTong, paiticularly in America: they 
speak of notifying the public; that is to say, ma- 
king known the public — Instead of this, we should 
say notify any thing, (or make it known) to the 
public. You advertise a person, or inform him of 
a thing — ^acquaint him with it. The verb consist^ 
in English, has two distinct meanings, . and two 
constructions : when it signifies to agree or cor =^ 
respond, it is joined to with. It consists vxith my 
knowledge. When it signifies to compose or make 
up a total, it is constructed either with in or of ; 
as his estate consists of^ox m, houses, lands, &Co 
This and that^ and ^/ze'^eand those ^ when together 
in a sentence, are used with distinction ; ^A?,s and 
these for the nearest,, and that and those for the 
most remote antecedent ; but otherwise, these^n^ 
those are used indiscriminately, but those more 



166 LECTURES ON 

frequently — as, those authors who are of different 
opinions. 

In all matters doubtful, you ought to observe 
how the current of good authors go. So far as I 
have been able to observe, collective words, in 
English, are indifferently constructed either with 
a verb singular or plural, as number, multitude, 
part — a great number were present, or was pre- 
sent, though I should prefer the last, — 

As to orthography, it is of the utmost moment, 
not but that a man may be supposed to speak, 
though he cannot spell; but because a public speak- 
er must be always in some degree conversant in 
public life, and then bad spelling is exceedingly 
reproachful. It is not only necessary to vmder stand, I 
in all ordinary cases, the orthography of ouf own ' 
language, but a scholar and critic, I think, should 
be able to observe the variations that have been 
made in spelling from time to time. Between 
thirty and forty years ago, an attempt was made I 
to alter the spelling of the English language very \ 
considerably, by bringing it nearer to the way of j 
pronouncing, but it did not succeed, being oppo- i 
sed by some of the greatest eminence, as likely to j 
destroy or hide the etymology of words. There I 
hcive some small alterations obtained a good deal \ 
hi my remembrance, such as taking away the 5 
final k in public, ecclesiastic, &c. There is also, : 
just now, an attempt making to change the spell- \ 
ing of several words — I have seen an ex^m.ple of 
it in a very late edition of Middleton's life of i 
Cicero ; such as revele, repete, explane — ^honor, I 
favor, candor, 8vC. this seems upon the principle j 
of bringing words nearer to their Latin deriva- 
tion. 



ELOQtTEN'CE, 16T 

Punctuation is a thing that a scholar should strive 
to understand a little ; though there are few gentle- 
men or scholars who use it much, either in letters 
or in their composition. The reason of this is, that 
it is looked upon as too formal, and unnecessary 
to use it in writing letters, except a full stop. It is 
always the best language, that has least need of 
points to be understood. Points are, I believe, a 
modern invention, subsequent to the invention of 
printing ; very useful, however, in teaching young 
persons to read with proper pauses. Another rea- 
son why points are little used in private writing 
is, that such papers as are sent to the press, (in 
Britain) do not need them, the printers themselves 
understanding that matter at least as well, if not 
better, than any writer. 

4. It is a good rule, to observe early, and study 
to guard against some of the most remarkable 
blemishes in writing and speaking, Vvhich ai^e 
fallen into by design or accident, and continued 
by habit. It is not difficult for any person, as soon 
as he begins to observe and reflect, to discover 
these in others, and as he will perceive the absur- 
dity clearly in them, let him be very careful to 
find out whether there is not something of the 
same kind in himself. That you may understand 
what I mean, I will mention some particulars. 

1. Peculiar phrases. — Such as have nothing in 
them but what is just, and decent and proper, when 
used once, or now and then ; but when a speaker 
fails so into any of them, that the practice is known 
for his own, and he is known by it, they becom.e 
unspeakably ridiculous. It is very difficult to 
avoid something of this kind ; there are few, if 



16a , LECTURES ON 

any^ but in common discourse use some phrases 
more than others. A cautious person, as soon as 
he perceives a habit of using any one coming upon 
him, will endeavour to alter or avoid it. Even 
the greatest men are not wholly free from this de- 
fect. It is observed of Cicero, that esse videatw* 
occurs in almost every three or four sentences, be 
the subject what it will. I knew a preacher that 
used the word sedate so very frequently, that he 
was called generally where he was known by the 
name of the sedate preacher. I say the same thing 
of particular motions and gestures, w^hich, if they 
be in any degree out of the way, are a great blem- 
ish in a speaker: both the one and the other of 
tiiese are commonly, at first, taken up as graces, 
and retained so long in that view, that they ac ^ 
quire an irresistible power from habit, 

2. Another blemish of this kind is, using im* 
proper epithets. This is very common : some, 
especially young persons, are apt to think a dis- 
course lean and poor, unless there be a great num- 
ber of epithets: and as they will let no subistan- 
tive go without an adjective,^ it is a gi^eat chance 
that some of them are improper : they cannot say 
the sky, without the azure sky, or the lofty sky, 
or the wide expanded sky ; aiKi though all these 
epithets may belong to the sky, they may not be 
equally proper m the place where they are intro- 
duced. A certam gentleman of no mean rank in 
Great Britain, in drawing an address from a bo- 
rough to his majesty, on the peace^ told him, that 
the terror of his arms had spread to the most dis- 
tant parts of the terraqueous globe : now, though 
it be certainly true that the globe is terraqueous. 



ELOqUENCE. 169 

it; was exceedingly ridiculous to tell the king so; 
it looked as if his majesty were a boy, and the 
borough magistrates were teaching him ; or they 
themselves were boys, who had just learned the 
first lesson in geography, that the globe consists 
of land and water, and therefore were desirous of 
letting it be known that they Avere so far advanced. 
3. Another visible blemish is, a multitude of 
unnecessary words of any kind, particularly the 
vain repetition of synonymous phi^ases. Some do 
not think their sentences full and round enough^ 
without a number of these phrases. But though 
it be true, that there is a fulness of a sentence and 
the clauses of a sentence which is necessary to 
please the ear, yet it is but an ill way to make up 
the shape with what is without sense or force. 
The most common of this kind are the double epi- 
thets, which men are led into by the introduction 
of words derived from the Latin or Greek into the 
English language. These words, differing in 
sound, are often coupled together, as if different 
in meaning also — As happiness and felicity, — frui- 
tion and enjoy m_ent, — greatness and magnificence, 
— ease and facility, — way and manner, — end and 
conclusion, — small and minute, — bountiful and 
liberal, &c. Sometimes, from your lofty speakers, 
we hear a whole string of words, of so little differ- 
ence in meaning, that it is almost impossible to 
perceive it. Thus I have lately heard, " This 
*' grand, capital, important, and fundamental 
^' truth.''— All proper epithets, and though any 
one of them would have made the discourse ner=> 



li'O LECTURES ON 

vous, as well as just, by the addition of thera all 
it becomes swelled and silly. ^ 

^ List of synony77ioiis terjizs frequently to be met with. 

Speakers and writers, 
Motives and arguments, 
Benefit ajid advantage, 
Small and minute, 
Bountiful and liberal, 
Right and title, 
Order and method. 
Sharp and acute, 
Pain and anguish. 
Moment and importance, 
Delight and satisfaction, 
Joy and pleasure. 
Profit and advantage, 
Resolution and purpose, 
Justice and equity, 
Truth and sincerity, 
Wealth and riches, 
Penurv and want. 
Worth and value. 
Lasting and abiding, 
Command and order, 
Order and appoint, 
Sin and guilt, 
Cheerfulness and alacrity, 
Greatness and magnificence, 
Joy and delight. 
Fruition and enjoyment, 
. Just and righteous, 



ELOQJJENCE, 171 

4 Viilgai'isms. I have been surprised to see 
some persons of education and character intro- 



End and design, 
Open and explain, 
Lasting and durable, 
Clear and manifest, 
Marks and signs. 
Plain and perspicuous, 
Ease and facility, 
End and conclusion, 
Odious and hateful> 
Poor and indigent, 
Order and regularity. 
Rules and regulations, 
Causes and reasons, 
Useful and profitable, 
Amiable and lovely, 
Wise and prudent, 
A final issue, 
Motives and reasons. 
Diminished and lessened. 
Excellence and perfection, 
Benevolence and good- will, 
Demonstrate and prove, 
Cover and conceal. 
Foolish and unwise. 

Terms and Phrases to be noted for remarks. 

Happifyingj-^susceptive, — ^fellow-country-man 
~felicitos-*--to be found in the Monitor. 
*' Unsexed thy mind," in a poem. 



17*2 LECTURES ON 

duee the mere vulgarisms of discourse in the pul- 
pit, or at the bar, such as, I an't, I can't, I shan't. 
An author who entitles his book Lexiphanes, and 
has very successfully exposed Johnson's long and 
hard words, let slip a vulgarism into his own dis- 
course, for which he was severely handled by the 
reviewers* Between you and I. I there is a go- 
verned case, and if it were to be used, it should 
be, between you and me. But the truth is, the 
phrase is altogether a vulgarism, and therefore not 
to be used, except in particular circumstances^ 
describing familiar chat. There are also certain 
cant phrases which come into repute or use in the 
course and the changes of fashion. 

These have been sufficiently exposed by Swift 
and Addison, and therefore I shall say nothing at 
all further on them, at present, as an opportunity 
will afterwards occur of mentioning them to ad- 
vantage. 

5. The fifth and last general rule I shall just 
mention is, to follow nature. This is a rule often 
given, and greatly insisted on, by the ancients. 
Every body has heard of it, nay, sometimes those 
who have not heard of it, will speak as if they had, 
and say, ^* This was quite natural. This was al- 
together unnatural," But it is somewhat difficult 



*^ Sensibilities," Aikin's Magazine, Oct. vol. ' 
1. 468—9. 

^* These commendations will not I am persua- 
ded make you vain and coxcomical. 

Knickktiackically, simplify, domesticate, pult- 
pitically* 



ELOQUENCE. 173 

to understand. Nature seems in this rule to be 
opposed to art. Is following nature, jthen, to do 
as untaught persons generally do? Will the most 
ignorant persons make the most plain and the best 
connected discourse ? Will they tell a story with 
the most genuine simplicity, and at the same time 
with perspicuity? We find it is quite otherwise. 
Perhaps it would be best to say it is following 
truth, or following that which is easiest and plainest, 
and probably would be followed by all, but for 
affectation. 

On this subject I can think of nothing so good 
as to say^ realize and suppose you saw the thing 
you would describe, and put yourself in the very 
state of him whose sentim.ents you would speak. 
Clear conceptions make distinct expressions, and 
reality is a great assistant to invention. If you 
were bid to study a subject abstractly, it would 
be with great difficulty that things proper and 
suitable to it would come into your mind. But 
if you yourself were in the situation that is to be 
supposed, the sentiments pertinent to it would 
croud upon you immediately. Let me try to 
make this familar by an example : suppose I were 
to ask any of you just now, what are the circum- 
stances that aggravate sin, or make it more hei- 
j nous, and deserving of severe punishment: it is 
' highly probable he would either be at a loss alto- 
gether, or at least would omit many of them. But 
if any of you had received an injury from another, 
in explaining of it, he would not fail to come over 
them every one. He would say it was unprovok- 
ed.— If he had done him serv^ice, he would not 
fail to upbraid him \j^ith it, and nothing would be 



ri4 LECTURES ON 

forgotten between the two, that could aggravate 
the crirne. ^ 

Supposing the reality of every thing, also, serves 
particularly to deliver a speaker from affected or- 
naments, and every thing in language or carriage 
that is improper. If you were pleading the cause 
of one accused of a capital crime, it would be best 
to suppose that you yourself were the accused per- 
son, and that you were speaking for your own life. 
This would give an earnestness of spirit, and a 
justness and correctnes to the manner, infinitely 
distant from that theatrical pomp, which is so pro- 
perly said to be a departure from the simplicity 
of nature. 



LECTURE IV. 

HAVING given you some preliminary dis- 
courses on such points as I thought would serve 
tx) prepai^e you for what might be afterwards said, 
I proceed to treat the subject more methodically 
and more fully. There are various ways of divi- 
ding the subject, which yet may each of tliem be 
said to take in the whole, in one way or other. ' 
Several of these must be combined together ; as it 
is not sufficient to view a building only from oX- 
station. If you would understand it thoroughly, 
you must view it from diffei^nt stations, and even 
take it in profile, and learn not only its outward 
appearance, but its inward structure. The me- 
thod I have resolved to follow, and which seems 
to me as complete as any I could fall upon, is 
this- — 



ELOqiJENCE. 175 

I. To treat of language in general, its qualities, 
and powers — eloquent speech — and its history 
and practice, as an art. 

IL To consider oratory as divided into its three 
great kinds, the sublime — simple — and mixed,-— 
their characters — ^their distinction- — their beauties 
— and dieir uses. 

MI. To consider it as divided into its consti- 
tuent parts, iuA^ention, disposition, style, pronun- 
ciation and gesture. 

IV. To consider it as its object is different, in- 
formation, demonstration, persuasion, entertain- 
ment. 

V. As its subject is different. The pulpit, the 
bar, and the senate, or any deliberative assembly. 

VI. To consider the structure and parts of a 
particular discourse, their order, connexion, pro- 
portion and ends. 

VII. Recapitulation, and an inquiry into the 
principles of taste, or of beauty and gracefuhiess^ 

'[ as applicable not only to oratory, but to all the 
I other (comm.only called) the fine arts. 
1 , In the first place then, I am to treat of language 
n in general, its qualities and powers^ — eloquent 
\ speech— and its history and practice as an art. 
j Language is M'hat in a great measure distin- 
j guishes man from the inferior creatures. Not but 
J that almost all annuals Imve certain sounds by 
[ which they can communicate something to one 
^ another. But these sounds ai^e evidently only sim- 
L pie, and sometimes single exertions, differing in 
I, one creature from another, according to the dif- 
ferent conformation of their organs. Articulate 
speech has a far greater compass, and is able to 



176 LECTURES ON 

express not only a vast multitude of complex, as 
well as simple ideas ; perhaps we may even say 
that articulate speech is little less extensive than 
thought itself, there being hai'dly any idea that 
can be formed but it may be expressed, and by 
that means communicated. In this there is a wide 
and manifest distinction between the rational and 
irrational creatures. 

Articulate l?jiguage is intended to communicate 
our sentiT'ients one to another. This may be con- 
sidered as fully explained, by saying it includes 
information and persuasion. A conception in my 
mind, when spoken, its excellence consists in 
making another perceive what I perceive, and feel 
towards it as I feel. They may be afterwards am- 
plified and extended; but these two particulars 
sheM" the true original purpose of speech. Elo- 
quence is commonly called the art of persuasion, 
but the other must be taken in. We must in- 
form before we can persuade, or if there be any 
such thing as persuasion without infonriation, it 
is only a blind impulse. 

Articulate speech is representing our ideas by 
arbitrary sounds. That is to say, there is no real 
or natural connexion between the sound and sig* 
nification, but what is the effect of compact and 
use. In this articulate speech is distinguished 
from signs or natural sounds, as alphabetical wri- 
ting (of which more afterwards) is distinguished 
from hieroglyphical. Natural sounds may signify 
joy, fear, anger, but language in general has no 
such natural connexion with its meaning. The 
words sun and moon migh^, have had diiferent 
meanings, and served the same purpose. The 



word beifh in Hebrew, oi/cos in Greek, domiis in 
Latin, maison in French, and house in English, 
though all of them different, ai^e equally proper 
for signifying the same thing, when once they are 
fixed by the custom of the several nations. Some 
have attempted to reduce the original words of a 
supposed original language, and even the letters of 
the alphabet, to a natural resemblance of the things 
to be signified ; but their attempts have been fruit- 
less and ridiculous. It was in ancient times a pret- 
ty general imagination, that there \vas a certain 
language that was original and natural to man ; 
that this was the first languge in use ; and that if 
men were not taught another language by exam- 
ple, they would all speak this language. But ex- 
perience, after trial had been made by several cu- 
rious persons, showed this imagination to be vain; 
for those who were brought up without any com- 
munication with mxen, were always dumb, and^ 
spoke none at all, except sometimes imitating the' 
natural sounds of some beasts or birds which they 
might occasionally hear. Herodotus's story is ei- 
ther a fable, or it proves nothing, of a king of 
« Egypt having two children nourished by goats, 
and pronouncing the word Bee, or Beecos, which' 
they said signified bread in the Phrygian language.' 
^ This was a thing merely accidental; if true : yet 
il at any rate of very doubtful authority. 

The words in articulate speech therefore are ar- 
bitrary, nor is there any possibility of their being 
otherwise; for words are only sounds, and though 
it is possible in some few particulars to fix upon 
words with a natural relation, as for example, per>- 
haps the names of animals might sometinies be 

q.2 



178 LECTURES ON 

given them with some resemblance of sound to 
the natural sounds which these animals utter, yet 
even this wdth disadvantages, as any body may 
perceive, by trying to make a word that shall re- 
semble the neighing of a horse, the lowing of a 
bull, &c. But as to all inanimate visible objects, 
it is impossible to represent them by sound ; light 
and sound, the eye and the ear, being totally dif- 
ferent in kind. I can recollect nothing that makes 
any difficulty in this matter, unless that some may 
say, how then do you find place for that parti-' 
cular beauty of poetry and other descriptions, 
in making the sound an echo to the sense ? But 
this is easily resolved. In some cases the passions 
give a modulation to sound, and in the quan- 
tity of the syllables, and ease or difficulty of pro- 
nouncing them, there may be a resemblance to 
slowness and labour, or their opposites, or both. 
As in the famous passage of Homer Ton men Tis- 
siphon; or in Mr. Pope, who exemplijfies the rule 
in giving it. 

<* 'Tis not enough, no harshness gives offence," &c. 

If words are arbitrary, it may be asked how lan- 
guage came first into use ? in which the opinions 
are various, but the controversy is not of any great 
moment. Some think it was in the same way as 
other creatures exert their natural powers, that 
man, by practice, gradually came to the use of 
speech, and settled the meaning of words by cus- 
tom. Others think tliat this would either never 
have happened, or have taken a very long time, 
and suppose that their Maker taught them at least 
some degree of practice, which should open the 
•way to a more extensive use of the faculty. And 



ELOQUENCE. 179 

the consideration that sounds in language are ar- 
bitrary, in some degree favours this supposition, 
because it may be observed that as mankind are 
capable by instruction of the greatest and most 
multifarious improvement, so without instruction 
they are capable of doing least. A human infant, 
when first brought forth, is more helpless and lon- 
ger helpless than any other animal that we know. 
It does not seem to be of much importance to form 
a determinate opinion of this question. It occurs 
in the very same way again, and may be reasoned 
upon the same principles, whether alphabetical 
writing was an invention and discovery of mqji, 
or revealed by God, Those who hold the last 
opinion observe, that hieroglyphic writing, or 
writing by signs or pictures, was before alphabe- 
tical, and tliat the improvement of hieroglyphics 
does not lead to, but from, alphabetical WTiting. 
That the one consists of natural emblems, and vi- 
sible signs of sentiments, and the other of arbitrary 
or artificial signs for simple sounds, so that the 
more complex you make the hieroglyphic, you 
differ the more from the alphabet. It seems pro- 
bable that this, and indeed the radical principles of 
all great discoveries, were brought out by accident, 
that is to say, by Providence : therefore it is pro- 
bable that God gave to our first parents, who were 
found in a state of full growth, all the instruction 
necessary for proceeding upon and exercising the 
faculty of speech, the length that was necessaiy 
for the purposes of human life. It is also probable 
from the analogy of Providence, that he left as 
much to the exercise of the human powers as ex- 
perience and application could conveniently supply^ 



180 LECTURES ON 

I will not enter much into the formation and 
construction of language in general. It is form- 
ed by a certain number of simple sounds, which, 
w^hen variously combined, produce that variety of 
words, which though certainly not strictly infinite, 
yet have been hitherto inexhausted by all the lan- 
guages in the world. The letters are divided in- 
to vowels and consonants, the first having a sound 
of themselves, and the other giving only a sort of 
modification to that sound. Some great philolo- 
gists are of opinion, that in the Hebrew and se- 
veral other ancient languages, their whole letters 
are consonants, tending to mark the different con- 
figurations of the organs of sound at the begin- 
ning of pronunciation, and the vowels are the 
sounds themselves, which they say men were 
taught to adopt by habit, first in speaking, and 
then in writing, and afterwards were distinguish- 
ed by marks or signs for the sake of readers. 
Hence the controversy about the Hebrew points, 
and indeed reading the dea,d languages in gene- 
ral, which is attended with great uncertainty, par- 
ticularly from the following circumstances. Vow-* 
els have in general been but five or six in num- 
ber, which should express all the simple sounds^ 
and yet they do not, and perhaps there is not a 
language in which there is greater confusion in 
this matter, than our own, which makes the English 
so exceedingly difficult for a foreigner to attain. 
Several English vowels have three or four different 
sounds, and, as Sheridan says, some of them the 
length of five : / has three in one word, viz. inji^ 
nite. These things not being necessary to my 



ELOQUENCE. 181 

main purpose, I only point at them, without en- 
larging. 

It is plain that in whatever manner languages , 
li were first formed, we can easily see that they 
came slowly and by degrees to perfection. An 
eminent French author, father Lamy, says the He- 
brew language was perfect in its original; but he 
advances no proof of this, but showing indeed by 
very just historical remai^ks and criticisms, that the 
Hebrew was anterior in point of time to the Greek, 
and that in writing, the letters were taken from 
the Hebrew axid employed in the Greek. Histo- 
ry says that Cadmus was a Phenician, and he has 
generally among the Greeks the honour of intro- 
ducing letters. It is also observed, that as the let- 
ters of the alphabet were used in expressing num- 
bers, the Greeks, after they had in process of time 
altered or left out the Itttervau in Hebrew, which 
stands sixth in order, they put a nevv^ mark s for 
six, that the rest might retain their powers, which 
plainly shews that the Hebrew alphabet was older 
than the Greek, as it now stands. 

But for my part, I do not understand the mean- 
ing of saying that the Hebrew language Vv^as per^ 
feet at first; it might be fitted for all the purposes 
of them that used it first, and is probably at this 
day as good as any other language, so fai^ as it 
goes, but it is plain that this and all the other lan- 
guages of the first ages were narrow, short and 
simple. They must ha,ve been so from the nature 
of the thing, most probably they consisted chiefly 
of monosyllables representing shnple ideas. What 
occasion had they for. complex or compound 
words, when they had few, if any, complex or com- 



182 , LECTUKEs es ** 

pounded ideas? This appears very plainly from 
the state of the Hebrew language, some of the 
other orientals, and the language of all uncultiva- 
ted people. It holds likewise in the case of the 
Chinese language, which, though the people are not 
uncultivated, properly speaking, is yet in an un- 
improved state, from their having had little inter- 
course with other nations. All such languages 
have few adjectives, and when they do use words 
as adjectives, they are commonly figurative. 
There is an ingenious and probable deduction how 
a scanty narrow language might be first used in 
Shuckford's connexions. They might express 
qualities by the name of some animal remarkable 
for them — as a lion-man, for a valiant or fi^erce 
man. This is wholly agreeable to the geniujs of the 
Hebrew language. The Hebrews describe every 
thing that is very great, by adding the name of 
God to it, as, the trees of God — die river of God. 
It follows that in all uncultivated languages the 
figures are frequent and very strong. The Indians 
in America have a language full of metaphors. 
They take up the hatchet, for going to war. and 
they brighten the chain, when they confirm a 
peace. 

Hence it appears that in the earliest times, if they 
used figures, it Vvas the effect of necessity rather 
than choice. But what men did at first out of ne- 
cessity, orators afterwards retu.rned to from choice, 
in order to increase the beauty or force of their 
diction, or both. In fact, figures do make the 
greatest impression on men's minds. They gire 
sensible, and therefore level to every person's 
capacity : for the same reason they make a strong 



eloqjjencje:- 1 83 

impression on the imagination. They likewise 
leave a great deal of room for the creative power 
of fancy to make additions. A sign or symlx)l seen 
by a multitude, on a subject that is understood, 
carries the contagion of enthusiasm or rage ex- 
ceedingly far. In the 19th of Judges you see the 
Levite took his concubine, and cut her into 
twelve parts, and sent them to all the tribes of Is- 
rael. The Roman also holding up the stump of 
his hand which he had lost in the service of the 
public, pleaded for his brother with a power v^t- 
ly superior to any language whatever. 



LECTURE V. 

HAVING given you a short view of language 
in general, if it were not too long, I would consi- 
der the structure of particular languages ; instep 
of which, take the few following sliort remarks. 

1. The nature of things necessarily suggests 
many of the ways of speaking which constitute the 
grammar of a language, and in every language 
there is nearly the same number of parts of speech, 
as they are enumerated in the Latin grammar ; 
noun, pronoun, verb, participle, adverb, preposi- 
tion, interjection, conjunction. 

2. In the use of these, there is a very great va- 
riety. Nouns, to be sure, are declined nearly the 
same way m all, by cases and numbers, though the 
Greeks in this differ a little, using three numbers 
instead of two, having a paiticular inflection of the 
word, when there are but two persons meant ; and 
another for the plural or more : but in the verbs^ 



184 LECTURES ON 

I 

there is a very great diversity ; in the active and : 
passive signification they generally agree, but some ^ 
express the persons by terminations, and some { 
by pronouns and nominatives expressed. Some \ 
have moods which others have not. The Greeks j 
have an optative mood; the Latins have gerunds; ij 
the Hebrews, wdth fewer differences of moods, have i 
conjugations that carry some variety of significa- i 
tion to the same word. In one word maser^ he j 
delivered, there is not only this and its passive, I 
but another, he delivered diligently, and the pas- \ 
sive ; another, he made to deliver ; another, he de- i 
livered himself. The Greeks, besides the active i 
and passive, have a media voXj of which perhaps 
the use is not now fully understood ; since some 
of the best grammarians say it signifies doing a 
thing to one's self; Tupsomai^ I shall strike myself. 
Most of the modern languages decline their verbs, 
not by inflection of the termination, as the Greek i 
and Latin, but by auxiliaiy verbs, as the English : 
and French. The Chinese language is perhaps the 
least improved of any language that has subsisted i 
for any time ; this probably is owing to their want | 
of alphabetical writing : every word among them j 
had a chai^acter peculiar to it, so that letters and i 
words were the same in number in their language ; ] 
this rendered it of immense difficulty to under- j 
stand their writing among themselves, and quite * 
impossible to foreigners : but they wxre vastly i 
surprised to find, that the Jesuits from Europe, j 
that came among them, could easily A^Tite their | 
language by our alphabet : and as they use the j 
same word in different tones, for different mean- | 
ings, these fatliers also soon found a way of distin- 



ELOQUENCE* 185 

guishing these in writing by certain marks and 
accents placed over the word, differing as it was to 
be differently taken. 

3. Some have amused themselves with inven- 
ting a language, with such a regular grammar as 
might be easily understood, and having this lan- 
guage brought into general use. We have a re- 
mark of this kind, in Father Lami's rhetorique, 
in French, and he says the grammar of the Tartar 
language comes nearest to it. We have also had 
some schemes and propositions of this kind in En- 
glish, but it seems wholly chimerical. I" shall 
only observe further, that some few have imagin- 
ed that the Hebrew language itself was originally, 
and when compleat, a perfect language, and that 
we now have it only maimed, and but a small part 
of it. These suppose the language to be generated 
thus, by taking the letters of the alphabet, and first 
going through them regularly by two, and then by 
three, ab, ag^ ad^ Sec. aba^ abb^ &c. All these 
schemes are idle, because no person can possibly 
lay down rules beforehand, for every thing that 
may hereafter be thought and spoken, and there- 
fore, when they are brought out, they will be ex- 
pressed as those to whom they first occur shall in- 
cline, and custom will finally fix them, and give 
them their authority. 

Leaving these things, therefore, as matters of 
more curiosity than use, I proceed to speak of 
eloquent speech, and its history as an art. It is 

' plain, that in the progress of society, and the corn- 
merce of human life, it would soon appear that 

' some spoke with more grace and beauty, and 

? so as more to incline the hearers to their senti- 

; R 



186 LECTURES ON .; 

[j 

ments, than others ; neither is it hard to perceive j 
that it would be early in repute. In the first asso- 
ciations of mankind, they must have been chiefly j 
governed by those who had the power of persua- j 
sion. In uncultivated societies it is so still : In , 
an Indian tribe, the sachem or wise man directs ^ 
their councils. The Progress of oratory towards j 
perfection must have been evidently, in fact,likethe i 
progress of all other human aits, gradual, and in ^ 
proportion to the encouragement given to its ex- , 
ercise. It prevailed, where the state of things and . 
constitution of government favoured it, but not 
otherwise. 

It is to be observed here, that by the consent of | 
all, and by the memorials of antiquity that are left, 
poetry was more ancient than oratory; ''or perhaps 
we may rather say, that the first exertions of ge- 
nius ill eloquent expression were in poetry, not 
in prose. It has frequently been made matter of 
critical inquiry, why poetry was prior to oratory, 
and why sooner brought to perfection? I do not i 
perceive very clearly what great advantage there j 
is in determining this question, supposing we \ 
should hit upon the true reasons : one reason I j 
take to be, that the circumstance in poetry that 
gives generally the highest pleasure^ viz. a strong 
and vigorous fancy, is least indebted to applica 
tion, instruction or time, for its perfection: there- 
fore poetical productions in general, and that spe- 
cies of them in particular which have most of tha 
quality, must be as easily produced in uncultiva 
ted times, as any other ; and for some reasons gi 
ven in a former discourse, must appear then witi 
the greatest effect. Whereas, to success in orato 



ELOQUENCE. lS7 

ly, some knowledge of the humart heart, and even 
some experience m the ways of men, is necessaiy. 
Another difference is plain ; poetical productions 
having generally pleasure or immediate entertain- 
ment as their design, may produce that effect in 
any age ; whereas the circumstances that rendered 
the orator's discourse interesting, are all gone. 

Perhaps to this we may add, that the incite- 
ments to poetry are more general. A poet pleases 
and obtains fame from e^ery single person who 
reads or heai's his productions; but rai assembly, 
business, and an occasion, are necessary to the 
orator. This last is likewise limited in point of 
place and situation. Oratory could not thrive in 
a state where arbitrary power prevails, because 
then there is nothing left for large assemblies and 
a diffusive public to determine ; whereas poetry 
is pleasing to persons under any form of govern- 
ment whatever. 

Those who have given the history of oratory have 
' rather given us the history of the teachers of that art 
^ than its progress and effects. It must be observed, 
i however, that in this, as well as in poetry, criticism 
• is the child and not the father of genius. It is the 
[ fruit of experience and judgment, by reflection upon 
^ the spontaneous productions of genius. Criticism 
J inquires what was the cause of things being agree- 
ijable, after the effect has been seen. Ward brings 
p a citation fi^om Cicero, to show that the orator's 
^ art was older than the Trojan war. The purport 
I of this is, that Homer attributes force to Ulysses' 
;| speeches, and sweetness to Nestor's ; perhaps also 
r he has characterised Menelaus' manner as simple, 
'1 short and unadorned. There is not, however, any 



I, 



188 LECTURES ON | 

certainty in this art being much studied or ex- i 

plained in these early times from this citation ; for i 

though Homer is an excellent poet, of inimitable i 
fire and great strength of natural judgment, it is 

not certain that he kept so perfectly to propriety, j 

as to describe only the manner and stvle of thine:s > 

at the time of the Trojan war, which was 250 yeai's ^ 

before his own. I should be more apt to conclude i 

that he had described manners, characters and 1 

speakers, as they were in his own time, with a little I 

air of antiquity. | 

We are, however, told by Pausanias, that the | 

first school of oratory in Greece was opened in the 1 

school of Theseus, the age preceding that war. If ! 

there be any certainty in this, its being taught in j 

Greece has been very ancient indeed ; but these | 

being fttbulous times, it is scarcely to be depended I 

upon. However, it is ceilain that oratory flou- j 

rished early, and was improved greatly in Greece. | 

Many circumstances concurred to produce this i 

effect. The spirit and capacity of the people — ■ 

the early introduction of letters— but chiefly their ] 

political situation— the freedom of their states — | 

the frequency of public assemblies — and the im- i 

portance of their decisions. There is much said j 
of the spirit and capacity of the Greeks for all the 
arts, and to be sure their climxate, so serene and 
temperate, might have all the effect that a climate 
can have: but I reckon the two other causes much 
more considerable. The introduction of letters is 
necessary to the improvement and perfection of a 
language, and as they were early blessed with that 
advantage, they had* the best opportunity of im- 
proving. However, the last cause of all is much 



more powerful than both the former, though per- 
haps Hterature is necessaiy to be joined with it to 
produce any great efiect. As to some of the other 
arts, paiticularly painting and statuary, an eminent 
modern critic says, the Greeks could not but ex- 
cel, because they, of all others, had the best ima- 
ges from nature to copy. He says tha.t the gam.es 
in Greece, in which the best formed bodies for 
agility and strength in the whole country were 
seen naked, and striving and exerting themselves 
to the very utmost, must have presented to per- 
sons of genius originals to draw from, such as in 
most other nations never are to be seen. If this 
remark is just in the other arts, the influepice of 
eloquence in the public assemblies of these free 
states must have had a similar effect in the art of 
speaking. 

The art of speaking m Greece, hov»'ever, does 
not seem to have risen high till the time of Peri- 
cles, and he is said to have been so powerful an 
orator that he kept up his influence in the city as 
much by his eloquence as tyrants did by theit power. 
- There is a passage of Cicero, vrhich seems to sav 
. that he was the first vrho prepared his discourses 
in writing, and some have been simple enough to 
] believe that he read them ; but nothing can be a 
I more manifest mistake, because action or pronun- 
i ciation was by all the ancients considered as the 
; great point in oratory. There were to be seen in 
J Cicero and Quintilian's timxcs, orations said to be 
a of Pericles ; but both tliese great orators seem to 
i be of opinion that they vvere not his, because they 
* did not at all seem to come up to the great fkm.e 
! of his eloquence. Mr. Bavle, a verv erainent cri- 



190 LECTlfRES OS 

tic, says justly, that these great men might be 
mistaken in that particular; for a very indifferent 
composition may be the work of a very great ora- 
tor. The grace of elocution and the power of ac- 
tion might not only acquire a man fame in speak- 
ing, but keep up liis influence in public assem- 
blies. Of this we have two very great British ex- 
amples, Mr. Whitefield in the pulpit, and Mr. Pitt 
in the senate. 

After Pericles there were many great orators m 
Greece, and indeed all their .statesmen Vvcre ora- 
tors till the time of Demosthenes, when the Gre- 
cian eloquence seems to have attained its perfec- 
tion. The praiaes of this great speaker are to be 
so generally met with, that 1 shall not insist upon 
them at all, further than reminding you, that, 
though no doubt eminently qualified by nature, 
iie needed and received great improvement from 
art. 

The Roman eloquence was of much shorter du- 
ration. It is true that the Roman state being free, 
and the assemblies of the people having much in 
their power, it seems, according to the principles 
we have gone upon, that public speaking must 
have been in esteem; but there is something pe- 
culiar. The Romans were for many ages a plain, 
rough, unpolished people. Valour in war was their 
idol, and therefore, though to be sure from the ear- 
liest times the assemblies must have been mana- 
ged in their deliberations by their speakers, yet 
they were concise and unadorned, and proba- 
ily consisted more of telling them their story, and 
^showing their wounds, which was of frequent prac- 
tice among them, ihap any artful or passionate 



ELOqUEl^CR. ' 191 

harangues. The first speakers of any eminence 
we read of in the Roman history, were the Grac- 
chi. Cicero I believe makes little mention even of 
therru Anthony and Crassus were the first cele- 
brated orators among the Romans, and they were 
but in the age immediately before Cicero him- 
self, and from his time it rather fell into decay. 

I have said above that genius and excellence was 
before criticism. This is very plain ; for though 
we read of schools and rlietoricians at different 
times and places, these ai^e considered by the 
great masters as persons quite contemptible. Of 
this kind there is a remarkable passage in Cicero 
in his Brutus* At hunc (speaking of Pericles) non 
-declamatory &c. The first just and truly eminent 
critic in Greece was Aristotle, v/ho flourished as 
late as the time of Demosthenes. And Cicero 
himself was the first eminent critic among the Ro- 
mans. Aristotle has laid open the principles of 
eloquence and persuasion as a logician and philo- 
sopher, and Cicero has done it in a still more mas- 
terly manner, as a philosopher, scholar, orator and 
statesman; and I confess, unless Jie has had many 
authors to consult that we know nothing of, his 
judgment and penetration are quite admirable, and 
his books de Oratore, &c. more finished in their 
|kind, than any of his orations themselves, 
I As to the effects of oratory, they have been and 
are surely very great, but as things seen through 
a mist, or at a great distance, are apt to be mista- 
ken in their size, I am apt to think many say 
Idlings incredible, and make suppositions quite 
contrary to nature and I'cason, and therefore to 
iprobability. Some speak and wTite as if all the an- 



192 XECTURES ON 

cient orators had a genius more than human, and in- 1 
deed by their whole strain seem rather to extinguish i 
than excite an ardour to excel. Some also seem to i 
me to go upon a supposition as if all the people in 
the ancient republics had been sages, as well as their : 
statesmen orators.— There is a remark to be found : 
in many critics upon a story of Theophrastus i 
the philosopher, from which they infer the delica- i 
cy of the Athenians. That philosopher it seems i 
weiit to buy something of an herb- woman, at a { 
stall, and she in her answer to him it seems called \ 
him stranger. This, they say, shows that shell 
knew him by his accent not to be a native of 4 
Athens, although he had li^^ed there thirty years, i 
But we are not even certain that her calling him | 
stranger implied any more than that he was un- j 
known to her. Besides, though it were true, that I 
she discovered him not to be an Athenian born, ] 
this is no more than what happens in every popu- ! 
lous country, that there is something in the accent \ 
which will determine a man to be of one country j 
or province, rather than another, and I am some- 
what of opinion that this would be more discerni- j 
ble in Greece than any where else. The different 
dialects of the Greek tongue were not reckoned 
reproachful, as many local differences are in Bri- 
tain, which therefore people will endeavour to rid 
themselves of as well as they cam In short, I take 
it for granted, that an assembly of the vulgar in A- 
thens was just like an assembly of common peo- 
ple among us, and a senate at Athens in under- 
standing and taste was not superior to the senate of 
Great-Britian, and that some of them were but 
mere mobs; and that they were very disorderly is 



ELOqUENCE. 190 

plain from what we read of Plato being pulled- 
down from the desk, when he went up to defend 
Socrates. 

The most remarkable story of the effect of ora- 
tory is that told of Cicero's power over C^sar in 
his oration for C. Ligarius, This is very pom- 
pously told by some critics, that Caesar came to 
ihe judgment seat determined to condemn him, 
and even took the pen in his hand to sign his con- 
demnation, but that he was interested by Cicero's 
eloquence, and at last so moved, that he dropped 
the pen and granted the orator's request. But sup- 
posing the facts to have happened, I am very 
doubtful of the justness of the remark. Caesar 
was a great politician, and as we know he did at- 
tempt to establish his authority by mercy, it is not 
unlikely both that he determined to pardon Liga- 
rius, and to flatter Cicero's vanity by giving him 
the honor of obtaining it. In short, oratory has 
its chief power in promiscuous assemblies, and 
there it reigned of old, and reigns still, by its visi- 
ble effect. 



LECTURE VI. 

I WE novv'' proceed to consider eloquence as di- 
i vided into its three great kinds- — the sublime, the 
. simple, and the mixed. This is very unhappily 
expressed by Ward, who divides style into the 
' low, the middle, and the sublime. Low is a word, 
1 which, in its first and literal sense, signifies situa- 
■ tion, and, Vv^hen applied metaphorically, tiever is, 
j in any instance, used in a good sense, but always 



194 LECTURES ON 

signifies what is either unhappy, or base and con- 
temptible, as we say a man's or a state's finances 
are low. We say a man is in a low state of health. 
We say he is guilty of low, mean practices. — Has 
a low, mean, paltry style. It was therefore con- 
veying a very wrong idea to make low one of the 
different kinds of style. You may observe that I 
have introduced this distinction in a manner some- 
what difterent from him, and some other authors. 
They consider it as a division of style. I choose 
rather to say there are three different great kinds, 
into which eloquence and composition may be di- 
vided. The reason is, I believe the word stylcy 
which was used both by the Greeks and Romans, 
but especially the latter, has like many others gra- 
dually changed its meaning. At first it signified 
the manner of writing in general, and is even 
sometimes used so still, but more commonly now 
in English it is confined to the diction. Nothing 
is more common than to say, sublimity in senti- 
ments and style, so as to distinguish the one from 
the other. I am sensible that even in this confin- 
ed sense there is a sublimity, simplicity, and me- 
diocrity in language itself, which will naturally 
enough fall to be explained, but it is better upon 
the whole to consider them as different kinds of 
eloquence, for several reasons. 

Sublimity in writing consists with all styles, and 
particularly many of the highest and most admir- 
ed examples of sublimity are in the utmost sim- 
plicity of style. Sometimes they are so far from 
losing by it, that they owe a great part of their 
beauty and their force to it. That remarkable 
example of sublimity in the Scripture is wholly 



-ELOQUENCE. 19a 

in the simple style. '' Let there be light, and 
^' there was light." There are also many others in 
Scripture, " The gods of the Gentiles are vanity 
'' and lies." — '' I am that I am." 

Some of the other kinds also, even the simplest, 
do sometimes admit great force of expression, 
though more rarely, and there is a great danger 
in the simple manner of writing, by admitting 
lofty expressions to swell into bombast. The 
mixed kind frequently admits of sublimity of 
style, and indeed is called mixed, as consisting, 
as it were alternately, of the one and the other, or 
being made up of a proportion of each. 

The sublime kind of writing chiefly belongs to 
the following subjects : epic poetry, tragedy, ora- 
tions on great subjects, and then particularly the 
peroration. Nothing can be too great for these 
subjects, and unless they are treated with sublimi- 
ty, they are not treated suitably. The simple 
kind of writing belongs to scientific writing, epis- 
tolary writing, essay and dialogue, and to the 
whole inferior species of poetry, pastorals, epi- 
grams, epitaphs, &c. The mixed kind belongs to 
history, system, and controversy. The first sort 
must be always sublime in sentiment or language, 
or both. The second may be often sublime in 
sentiment : sometimes, but very rarely, in lan- 
guage. The mixed admits of both sorts with full 
propriety, and may be often sublime, both in sen- 
timent and language. 

Let us now consider these three great kmds of 
composition, separately, in the order in wJiich I 
have named them. 



196 LECTURES ON 

1. Of the sublime manner of writing— This is \ 
very difficult to describe or treat of, in a critical \ 
manner. It is very remarkable, that all writers on I 
this subject, not excepting those of the gi^eatest | 
judgment, accuracy and precision, when they J 
come to explain it, have used nothing but meta- 1 
phorical expressions. It is however certain, in 
general, that metaphor should be kept as much as 
possible out of definition or explication. These 
all agreeing therefore in this circumstance, seems ] 
to show that sublimity is a single or simple idea, j 
that cannot be resolved, divided, or analysed, and 
that a taste for it is, in a good measure, a feeling ) 
of nature. The critics tell us, that sublimity is | 
that which surprises, ravishes, transports : these ! 
are words frequently applied to its effects upon i 
the hearers; and greatness, loftiness, majesty, are 
ascribed to the sentiments, to the character, to the 
person. An oration, or the sublime parts of a po- j 
em, have been compared to the voice of thunder, 
or penetration of lightning, to the impetuosity of 
a torrent; this last, is one of the best inetaphori- i 
cal expressions for sublimity in eloquence, be- j 
cause it carries in it, not only the idea of great 
force, but of carrying away every thing with it 
that opposes or lies in its way. That may be said 
to be sublime, that has an irresistible influence on 
the hearers, and when examined, carries in it the 
idea of great power and abilities in the speaker : 
yet even this is not sufficient, it has, the character 
of greatness, as distinct from that of beauty, sweet- 
ness or use. Burke, on the sublime, has endea- 
voured to show that sublimity and beauty, though 
generally united in our apprehensions, are distinct 



ELOQUENCE. 197 

qualities, and to be traced to a different source. 
Of sublimity in paiticular, he says it is always al- 
lied to such things as raise-the passion of terror : 
but of this I will speak more fully upon a head I 
have reserved for that purpose ; in which I pro- 
pose to inquire into the first principles of taste or 
approbation, common to this and all other arts. 

Longinus mentions no less than five different 
sources of the sublime. (1) Greatness or eleva- 
tion of mind, (2) Pathos or passion. (3) Figure. 
(4) Nobleness of language. (5) Composition or 
arrangement of words. But though the last two of 
these are of considerable moment, and greatl^ con- 
tribute to augment the force as well as beauty 
of a discourse, I do not think they are of that na- 
ture, as to be considered upon the same footing 
with the other three. Therefore leaving what is to 
be said upon them to the next head, when it wdll 
properly occur, I shall consider the others in their 
order. 

1. Greatness or elevation of mind-— This is the 
first and radical source of sublimity indeed. It is 
quite impossible for a man to attain to sublimity 
of composition, unless his soul is great, and his 
eonceptions noble : and on the other hand, he that 
possesses these, can hardly express himself nlean- 
ly. Longinus gives it as an advice, that a man 
should accustom his mind to great thought. But 
if you a*sk me what ai^e great thoughts, I confess 
myself unable to explain it, and unless ihe feeling 
is natural, I am afraid it is impossible to impai^t it; 
yet it seems to be pretty generally understood* 
It is common to say such a m.cin has a great soul, 
or such another has a mean or little soul. A s^reat 

s ^ 



198 LECTURES ON 

soul aspires in its hopes; is not easily terrified by I 

enemies or discouraged by difficulties. It is worth i 

while to consider a little the effect of a man's out- i 

ward circumstances. The mind, to be sure, can- i 

not be wholly made by any circumstances. Sen- i 

timents and state are different things. Many a j 
great mind has been in narrow circumstances, and 
many a little rascal has been a king ; yet education 

and manner have a sensible effect upon men in i 

general. I imagine I have observed, that when i 

persons of great rank have been, at the same time, j 

men of real genius, they have generally excelled 1 

in ml^esty and dignity of sentiments and Ian- j 

guage. This was an advantage generally enjoyed ] 

by the ancients whose writings remain to us ; hav- ( 

ing but their own language to study, and being : 

early introduced into public life, and even into | 

the conduct of the greatest affairs, they were led I 

into nobleness of sentiment. Xenophon, Demos- ] 

thenes, Cicero, Ccesar, were all of them great i 

statesmen, and two of them great generals, as wdl \ 

as writers. In modern times, there is a more \ 

compleat partition of employments, so that the i 

statesman, general and scholar, are seldom found j 

vmited in the same person ; yet I think it appears \ 

in fact, that when statesmen are also scholars, j 

they make, upon the whole, greater orators and ! 

nobler writers, than those who are scholars merely, j 

though of the greatest capacity. In every station, j 

however, this remark has place, that it is of im- \ 

portance to sublimity in writing, to endeavour to I 

acquire a large and liberal manner of thmking\ ] 

Whilst I am making use of this language, I would j 

caution you against thinking diat pride and vani- | 



ELOQUENCE. 199 

ty of mind are at all allied to greatness, in this 
respect. There is a set of men called free-think- 
ers, who are pleased to arrogate to themselves a 
large and liberal manner of thinking, and the ge- 
nerality of them, are as little creatures, as any on 
the face of the earth. Mr. Addison compares them 
to a fly, which, lighting upon a great building, 
and perceiving the small interstices between the 
stones, cries out of vast chasms and irregularities, 
which is wholly owing to the extreme littleness 
of his sight, that is not able to see the dignity and 
grandeur of the w^hole building. 

When I am upon this subject of greatness and 
elevation of thought, as one source of the sublime, 
you will naturally expect that I should give some 
examples to illustrate it. I shall begin with some 
out of the scriptures, where indeed there is the 
greatest number, and these the noblest that can 
vvell be conceived. " I am God alone, and besides 
me there is no saviour- — Who is this that darken- 
eth counsel by words Vvitliout knowledge ?-= — Who 
vrili set the briars and thorns against me in bat- 
tle ?" &c. See also two passages inimitably grand 
— Isa. 40. 12 — and v. 21, and onwards. 

To mention some of the sayings in heathen an- 
tiquity — Alexander's saying to Parmenio is cer- 
tainly of the great kind, yet perhaps with a consi- 
derable mixture of pride as well as greatness. 
Parmenio told hirn, if he v/ere Alexander, he vv^ould 
act in a certain manner. Answer. So would I, 
if I were Parmenio. That of Porus, the Indian 
king, to Alexander, however, y as much greater. 
When he was Alexander's prisoner, and was 
asked by that prince how he expected to be treat- 



200 LECTX^RES ON 

ed? He answered, like a king. Caesar^s famous t 
saying of veni, vidi, vici, has often been quoted 
as a concise aiid noble description of the rapidity 
of his conquests ; yet I confess I think- it very du- 
bious ; it has not only' an air of improper vanity, 
but looks like an intended and silly play upon the 
words, and what we call alliteration. Thev are 
three words of the same length, the same tense, 
and the same beginning and ending. Cicero, in 
one of his orations, I believe in that for Marcellus, I 
has a vtry noble compliment to Csesar, when he ! 
says, the gods had given nothing to men so great I 
as a disposition to shew mercy. But of all great 
sayings on record, there is none that ever made 
such an impression upon me as that of AylifFe to ! 
king James the Hid. He had been detected in i 
some of the plots, &c. The king said to him, 1 
Mr. Ayliffe, don't you know ^tis in my power to i 
pardon you ? Yes (says he) I know it is in your \ 
power, but it is not in your nature ! ] 

It is necessary to put you in mind in reading \ 
books of criticism, that when examples of great- | 
ness of sentiment are produced from Homer and ' 
the other anciejiit writers, that all circumstances ^ 
must be taken in, in order to form a just opinion 
concerning them. We must remember his times, | 
and the general belief of his countrymen with re- i 
gard to theology, and many other subjects. There | 
must be a probability to make a thing natural, i 
other vvise it is not great or noble, but extravagant, j 
Homer, in describing the goddess Discord, says, | 
her feet were upon the earth, and her head was 
covered with the clouds. He makes Pluto look 
up and affirm, that Neptune would open hell it- 



self, and make the light to shine into that dark 
abode. There are some of these that appear to 
me suspicious even in Homer himself; such as 
when he meikes Jupiter brag, that if all the other 
gods were to hang at the bottom of a chain, and 
earth and sea, all along with them, he would 
toss them all up as easily as a ball. However it 
w^as with regard to him, Vv^ho was traight to believe 
in Jupiter sitting upon Mount Olympus, or quaf- 
fing Nectar in the council of the gods, modern 
and Christian writers and speakers should be care- 
ful to avoid any tiling that is extravarant and ridi- 
culous, or even such afilisions to the heathen the- 
ology, as could only be proper to those who be- 
iieved in it. 

There is the more reason to insist upon this, that 
as grandeur and sublimity is commonly a great 
object of ambition, particularly with young per- 
sons, they are very ready to degenerate into bom- 
bast. You ought ahvays to remember, that the 
language ought to be no higher than the subject, 
or the part of the subject that is then immediately 
handled. See an example of the different waj^s of 
a simple and a turgid writer, upon the very same 
sentiment, where the Roman empire w^as extended 
to the western coast of Spain. Sextus Rufus sim- 
ply tells it thus — Hispanias per Decimum Bru- 
tum obtinuimvis et usque ad Gades et oceanum 
pervenimus. Florus, taking a more lofty fliglit, 
says — Decimus Brutus aliquajito totius, &c. 

I have only further to observe, that in sublime 
descriptions great care should be taken that they 
be all of a piece, and nothing unsuitable brought 
ijito view* Longinus justly blamedthepoetHesiod, 

S 2 



202 LECTURES ON 



that after he had said every thing he could, to \ 
render the goddess of darkness terrible, he adds, I 
that a stinking humour ran from her nose — a cir- 1 
cumstance highly disgusting, but no way terrible, i: 



LECTURE VII. ! 

I 
I COME now to the second source of the sub- j 
lime, which is pathos, more commonly called in j 
English the pathetic, that is, the power of mov- 
ing the passions. This is a very important part of j 
the subject : a power over the passions is of the i 
utmost consequence to a poet, and it is all in all i 
to an orator. This every one will perceive, if he j 
only recollects what influence passion or sentiment \ 
has upon reason, or, in other words, inclination | 
upon the practical judgment. He that possesses i 
this power in a high degree has the higliest capa- i 
city of usefulness, and is likewise able to do the \ 
greatest mischief. Sublime sentiments and Ian- l 
guage may be formed upon any subject, and they \ 
touch the heart with a sense of sympathy or appro- i 
bation ; but to move the passions of others so as i 
to incline their choice, or to alter their purpose, is j 
particularly the design of eloquence. j 

The chief passions eloquence is intended to j 
work upon are, rage, terror, pity, and perhaps de- ^ 
sire in general, though occasionally he may have 
occasion to introduce every aftection. In a hero- 
ic poem every affection may be said to take its 
turn ; but the different species of oratory, or the 
different objects and subjects of it, may be said to 
<iivide the passions. A speaker in political or de- 



ELOQUENCE. 203 

liberative assemblies may be said to have it in 
view to excite the passion of rage : he may na- 
turally desire to incense his hearers against their 
enemies, foreign and domestic, representing the 
first as terrible and dangerous, to excite aversion 
and hatred, and the other as weak or worthless, to 
excite contempt. An example of this you have 
in the great subject of Demosthenes's orations, 
Philip, king of Macedon — another in Cicero's 
discourses ag-ainst Cataline and Anthony. Pity is 
the chief passion attempted to be raised at the bar, 
unless in criminal cases, where indignation against 
villainy of every kind is the part of the accuser. 
Terror and its attendants belong very much to a 
speaker in the pulpit ; rage he has nothing to do 
with, but in an improper sense, to raise a strong 
and steady, but uniform, indignation against evil. 
But even this a speaker from the pulpit should 
endeavour to convert into compassion for the fol- 
ly and wretchedness of the guilty person. Pity 
seems to be the single object in tragedy. 

One talent of great moment towards raising the 
passions is a strong and clear imagination, and a 
descriptive manner of speaking, to paint scenes 
and objects strongly, and set them before the eyes 
of the hearers. To select such circumstances as 
Vv'ill have the most powerful effect, and to dwell 
only upon these. We have not any where in En- 
glish a finer example of the pathetic, and the 
choice and use of circumstances, than the speech 
which Shakespeare has made for Anthony in the 
tragedy of Cassar. It appears from the history, 
that Anthony did successfully raise the fury of the 
Romans against those who killed Caesar, and I 



204 LECTURES ON . 

think he could hardly select better images and 
knguage than those we have in the English poet. 

But yesterday, &c. 

1. To raising the passions with success, much 
penetration and knowledge of human nature is ne- 
cessary. Without this every attempt must fail. 
In confirmation of this remark, though there are 
persons much better fitted for it by nature than 
others, the most powerful in raising the passions 
have generally been those who have had much ac- 
quaintance with mankind, and practice in life. Re- 
cluse students and professed scholars will be able 
to discover truth, and to defend it, or to write 
moral precepts with clearness and beauty ; but 
they are seldom equal, for the tender and pathetic, 
to those who have been much in what is called the 
world — by a well known use of that word, though 
almost peculiar to the English language. There 
is perhaps a double reason for persons well versed 
in the ways of men having the greatest povvcr up- 
on the passions. They not only know others bet- 
ter, and therefore how to touch them, but their 
own hearts, it is likely, ha,ve been agitated by 
more passions than those whose lives have been 
more calm and even. 

2. To raising the passions of others, it is ne- 
cessary the orator or writer should feel what he 
W'ould communicate. This is so well known a 
rule, that I am almost ashamed to mention it, or 
the trite quotation commonly attending it ; '' Si 
vis mxC flere dolendum, est primum ipsi tibi." You 
may as well kindle a fire wdth a piece of ice, as 
raise tlie passions of others while your own ai^e 



ELOQUENCE. ^ 205 

Still. I suppose the reason of this, if we would 
criticaily examine it, is, that we believe the thing 
to be a pretence or imposition altogether, if we 
see that he who wishes us to be moved by what 
he says, is notwithstanding himself unmoved. 
The offence is even something more than barely 
negative in some cases. If we hear a man speak- 
ing with coldness and indifference, where we think 
he ought to be deeply interested, we feel a certain 
disappointment, and ai^e filled with displeasure ; 
as if an advocate was pleading for a person ac- 
cused of a capital crime, if he should appear with 
an air of indifference and unconcern, let his lan- 
guage and composition be what ihey will, it is al- 
ways faulty or disgusting : or let a minister, when 
speaking en the weighty subject of eternity, show 
any levity in his carriage, it must weaken the 
force of the most moving truths ; whereas, when 
we see the speaker wholly engaged and possessed 
by his subject, feeling every passion he wishes to 
communiciite, we give ourselves up to him with- 
out reserve, and are formed after his very temper 
by receiving his instructions. 

3. It is a direction nearly allied to this, that a 
man should never attempt to raise the passions of 
his hearers higher than tlie subject plainly merits 
it. There are some subjects, that, if we are able, 
are of such moment as to deserve all the zeal and 
fire we can possibly bestow on them^ of which we 
may say, as Dr. Young, '' Passion is reason, 
'^transport, temper here." A lawyer for his cli- 
' ent, whom he believes to be innocent ; a phtnot 
for his country, whicli he believes to be in danger 3 
but above all, a minister for his people's everlast- 



206 LECTURES ON 

ing welfare, may speak with as much force and 
vehemence, as his temper and frame are suscep- 
tible of; but in many other cases it is easy to 
transcend the bounds of reason, and make the 
language more lofty than the theme. We meet 
often, for example, with raised and laboured en- 
comiums in dedications, a species of writing the 
most difficult to succeed in, of any almost, that 
can be named. The person honored by this mark 
of the author's esteem is very seldom placed in 
the same rank by the public, that he is by him. 
Besides, though he were really meritorious, it sel- 
dom comes fairly up to the representation : the 
truth is, to correspond to the picture, he should 
be almost the only meritorious person of the age 
or place in which he lives. Now, considering how 
cold a compliment this is to all the rest, and par- 
ticularly to those who read it, there is little vvon- 
der that such rhapsodies are treated with con- 
tempt. I have often thought the same thing of 
funeral panegyrics : when ar man dies, whose 
name perhaps was hardly ever heard of before, we 
have a splendid character of him in the news-pa- 
pers, where the prejudice of relations or the par- 
tiality of friendship do just what they please. I 
remember, at the death of a person whom I shall 
not name, who was, it must be confessed, not in- 
considerable for literature, but otherwise had not 
much that was either great or amiable about him, 
an elegiac poem was published, which began with 
this line, '' Whence this astonishment in every 
face ?'' Had the thing been really true, and the 
public had been deeply affected with the loss, the 
introduction had been not inelegant ; but on such 



ELOQUENCE. 207 

a pompous expression, when the reader recollect- 
ed that he had seen no marks of public astonish- 
ment, it could not but tempt him to smile. 

4. Another important remark to be made here, 
is, that a writer or speaker, in attempting the pa- 
thetic, should consider his own natural turn, as 
well as the subject. Some are naturally of a less 
warm and glowing imagination, and in them.selves 
susceptible of a less degree of passion than others: 
these should take care not to attempt a flight that 
they cannot finish, or enter upon such sentiments 
and language as they will probably sink, as it were, 
and fall away from in a little time. Such should 
substitute gravity and solemnity, instead of fire, 
and only attempt to make their discourse clear to 
the understanding, and convincing to the con- 
science : perhaps, this is in general the best way 
in serious dis<:ourses and moral writings : because, 
though it may not produce so strong or ardent 
emotions, it often leaves a deeper and more last- 
ing impression. 

Of Figurative Speech. 

It is common to meet with this expression;^ 
" The tropes and figures of rhetoric." This ex- 
pression is not just ; the terms are neither synony- 
mous, nor ai'e they two distinct species of one 
genus — Figure is the general expression ; a trope 
is one of the figures, but there are many more. 
Every trope is a figure, but every figure is not a 
trope : perhaps we may say a trope is an expedi- 
ent to render language more extensive and copi- 
ous, and may be used in tranquillity ; whereas a 
figure is the effect of passion. This distinction^ 



208 LECTURES ON 

however, cannot be universally maintained ; for 
tropes are oftentimes the effect of passion, as w ell i 
as of the narrowness of language. Figures may be | 
defined any departure from the plain direct man- j 
ner of expression, and particularly such as are i 
suggested by the passions, and differ, on that ac- \ 
count, from the way in Avhich we would have spo- ] 
ken, if in a state of perfect tranquility. Tropes i 
arc a species of figures, in which a word or phrase j 
is made use of in a sense different from its first and J 
proper signification, as, '' The Lord is a sun and i 
shield;" where the words " sun and shield" are 
used tropically. Tliere are several different tropes. | 
1. Metonymy — This is a \try general kind of { 
tro}:>e, comprehending under it several others ; the j 
meaning of it is a change of name, or one name \ 
for another : this may be done several ways : ( 1 ) ] 
The cause may be put for the effect, or the effect \ 
for the cause : as when we say, cold death ; be- | 
cause death makes cold : Old age kept him be- .j 
hind, that is, made him weak,*^ &c. (2) The author, 1 
for his works. (3) The thing containing, for the 
thing contained : as drink the cup, that is, the li- 
quor iiji the cup. (4) A part is taken for the whole, 
or the whole for a part ; as my roof, for my house ; 
my house is on fire, when only a small part of it 
burns — This is called synecdoche. (5) ^ gene- 
ral term for a particular ; a hundred reasons may 
be given, that is, many reasons may be given, i 
(6) A proper name for a characteristic name ; as 
he is a Nero, for a cruel man ; or a Sardanapa- 
lus, for a voluptuous monarch. AH these and many 
more are metonymies. 



ELOQUENCE. . 209 

2. Metaphor—this might as well have been the 
general term, as trope ; for it also signifies change 
of expression : it is a species of trope, by which 
any term is applied in a sense different from its 
natural import, as when we say, a tide of pleasure, 
to express the impetuosity of pleasure : when the 
heavens are said to be over our heads as brass, 
and the earth under our feet as iron. 

3. Allegory — This is continuing the metaphoi-, 
and extending it by a variety of expressions of the 
same kind, as the Lord is my shepherd, he 
Maketh me to lie down in green pastures- — he 
inaketh me to feed beside the still waters. 

4. Irony — In using words directly contrary to 
their meaning ; as, " No doubt you are the peo- 
^' pie, and wisdom shall die with you.'' 

5. Hyperbole — -When things are carried be- 
yond their truth, to express our sentiments more 
strongly, as ^'Swifter than the wind, whiter than- 
snow. 

6. Catachresis — Is the first trope of all, when- 
words are used in an opposite, and sometimes in 
an impossible sense, as when chains and shackles 
are called bracelets of iron. 

Figures. 

Figures cannot be fully enumerated, because 
they are without number ; and each figure may 
be used several different ways. (1) Exclamation 
—This is nothing else. than a way of expressing 
admiration or lamentation, as Oh! Alas! Heaven^! 
&c. used by persons much moved. (2) Doubt 
^ — This is frequently the expression of a doubtful 
mind, m suspense \\^hat to do. This is (ieseribedt 
..-.■ . . T- 



210 LECTURES OX 

by Virgil, in the distress of Dido, when /Eneas 
left her; " Shall I go to the neighbouring kings 
" Vv'hom I have so often despised?'' Sometimes 
it is a beautiful figure, and obliges persons to take 
notice of it, and sometimes of what they would 
otherwise have omitted: " Who is this that 
" Cometh from Edom ?" (3) Epanorthosis — This 
is a correction or improvement of \^ hat has been 
said : '' You are not truly the son of a goddess, 
*^ nay you must have sucked a tygress." (4) 
Pleonasm — This is a redundancy, as, I have 
heard it with my ears, he spake it with his mouth." 
(5) Similitude — This is comparing one thing 
with another, as ^^ he shall be like a tree planted, 
&c. (6) Distribution — This consists of a particu- 
lar enumeration of several correspondent images ; 
•^ Tlieir throat is an open sepulchre, their tongues 
have used deceit/"' (7) Prosopopeia — When 
persons dead, or absent, or different from the 
speaker, are brought in speaking, as Cicero sup- 
poses his country or Italy, and all the public say- 
ing to him, ** Marcus TuUius, what are you do- 
ing ?" (8) Apostrophe — When persons dead or 
absent, or any inanimiate things, are spoken to, as 
Cicero says, '' O ! vos, or hear O ! Heavens, 
*' and give ear O earth !" (9) Com.munication — 
When a speaker calls upon his hearers to say 
w^hat advice they would give, or w^hat they would 
have done, difterent from what he or the person 
whom he defends has done ; What could you 
have done m this case ? What should I do now ? 
(10) Interrogation — Putting a thing home to the 
readers, as, '^ What fruit had you then in those 
** things of which you are now as hamed i^-^ 



ELOqUEXCE. 211 



LECTUSE TIIL 

I HAVE now gone through the account given 
in the 'systems, of the tropes and figures of rheto- 
ric, by which you will sufficiently understand the 
meaning of both. The proper applications howe- 
\ er of them is a matter of much greater moment, 
and of much oTv^.ter difficulty. I will make a few 
remarks before I close the subject, in addition to 
V. hat hath been already interspersed through the 
dificrent parts of it. 

1. Perhaps it v>'ill not be improper to consider 
what is the purpose intended by figures. I have 
introduced them here as a means of givmg subli- 
mity to a discourse, but may there not be some 
little analysis and resolution of that purpose ; may 
v;e not inquire what are the pai'ticular "effects of 
figures-? Are the effects of figures in generEil, and 
of all figures, the same ? It is certain that figura- 
tive speech is very po^^'crful in iTiising the pas> 
sions. And probaby different figures are proper 
to express or excite difierent passions ; admjlra- 
tion, desix^e, pity, hatred, rage, or disddn. This 
appears from the explication of figures formerly 
given. But besides this, we may observe that 
there are some effects of figures that seem to be 
wholly unconnected w^ith passion, of these I shall 
mention three ; ornament, explication, convic- 
tion. Sometimes figure is made use of merely 
for ornament. Of this Rollin gives us an exam^ 
pie, in wliichan author says, " The king, to give 
'' an eternal mark of the esteem and friendship 



212 LECTURES OxSr 

" with which he honoured a great general, gave 
^^ an illustrious place to his glorious ashes amidst 
'' those masters of the earth, who preserve on the 
'' magnificence of their tombs an image of the 
'^ lustre of tlicir thrones." Under this head may 
be reckoned all the examples of the use of figures, 
to raise things that are mean and low in them- 
selves to some degree of dignity by the phraseo- 
logy, or to give a greater dignity to any thing 
than the simple idea or the proper name would 
convey ; as if one should say, looking round the 
scene and observing the bounteous gifts of Pro- 
vidence for the support of innumerable creatures, 
instead of the grass and corn every where grow- 
ing in abundance. Perhaps also under the same 
head m.ay be reckoned, the clothing in other terms 
any thing that might be supposed disagreeable or 
disgusting, as Vv^hen Cicero confesses that the ser- 
vants of Milo killed Clodius, he does not say in- 
tersecerunt, but he says, '^ They did that which 
'' every good man would %vish his servants to do 
^^in like circumstances." I shall only observe, 
that the greatest delicacy and judgment imagina- 
ble is necessary in the use of figures with this 
view, because they are very apt to degenerate in- 
to bombast. Young persons, in their first com- 
positions, and especially when they have a good 
deal of ancient literature fresh in their heads, are 
very apt to be faulty in this particular. A com- 
mon word or sentiment which any body might 
use, and every body would understand, they think 
m.ean and below them, and therefore they have 
recourse to unnecessary figures, and hard or learn- 
ed phrases. Instead of v/alking about the fields, 



ELOQUENCE. 217 

of expression of their own thoughts. They ge- 
nerally remark fvirther, that it is what seems to be 
easy, but yet is not ; as Horace says, ut sibi qui- 
vis speret idem, &c. We may further observe, 
that what is truly simple always carries in it the 
idea of being easy in its production, as well as in 
imitation and indeed the one of these seems ne- 
cessarily to suppose the other. Whatever seems 
to be the eftect of study and much invention can- 
not be simple. It is finely exemplified in the in- 
troduction of Anthony's speech in Shakspeare : I 
am no orator as Brutus is, &c. RoUin has given 
us an admirable example of a story told w^ith a 
beautiful simplicity, from Cicero's offices. There 
is an example also in Livy's account of the bat- 
tle of the Horatii and Curiatii, only v^dth a little 
more force of expression, as the importance and 
solemnity of the subject seemed to require it. But 
it requires a very masterly knowledge of , the 
Latin language, to perceive the beauties fully, 
that are pointed at by Rollin in the first instance, 
or might easily be mentioned in the last. There 
is no author in our language who excels more in 
simplicity than Addison. — The Spectator in ge- 
neral indeed, but especially the papers written by 
him, excel in this quality. Ease and elegance are 
happily joined in them, and nature itself, as it 
were, seems to speak in them. If some of the later 
periodical writers have equalled, or even excelled 
them in force or elegance, not one has ever come 
up to them in simplicity. 

The subjects or the species of writing in which 
j simplicity chiefly shines, are narration, dialogue, 
I epistolary writing, essay writing, and all the light- 



218 LECTURES ON 

er species of poetry, as odes, songs, epigrams, 
elegies, and such like. The ancients were re- 
markable for a love and admiration of simplicity, 
and some of them remain to us as eminent ex- 
amples of its excellence. Xenophon, in his in- 
stitution of Cyrus, is particularly remarkable for 
a sweet and dignified simplicity. He uses neither 
language nor ideas that are difficult and far- 
fetched. In the smaller compositions of the an- 
cients, as odes, epigrams, &c. they were at pro- i 
digious pains to polish them, and make them j 
quite easy and natural. They placed their great j 
glory in bestowing much ait, and at the same time ! 
making it to appear quite easy and artless, accord- I 
iug to the sayinp; now grown into a proverb, artis ! 
est celare artem. The beauty of simplicity may i 
not appeal^ at first sight, or be at all perceived by i 
persons of a vitiated taste, but all persons of good i 
judgment immediately, and the bulk of mxankind j 
in time, are charmed with what is quite easy, and 1 
yet truly accurate and elegant. 

It ought to be carefully observed, that simpli- 
city is quite a different thing from lowness and 
meanness, and the great ait of a writer is, to 
preserve the one without degenerating into the ' 
other. It is the easiest thing in the world, to ] 
speak or write vulgarisms, but a person of true j 
taste will carefully avoid every thing of that kind, j 
For example, one who would wTite simply, and i 
as near the language of plain people in ordinary i 
discourse as possible, would yet avoid every ab- | 
surdity or barbarism that obtains a place in com^ j 
mon conversation, as to say, ^' This here table, 
'^ and that there candle.'' It is also quite con- | 
trary to simplicity, to adopt the quaint expres- ' 



ELOQJJENCE. 219 

slons or cant phrases that are the children of 
fashion, and obtain for a little, or in some parti- 
cular places and not in others. The Spectator 
attacked, with greeit spirit and propriety, several of 
those that were introduced into conversation and 
writing, in his time, such as, mob^ rep^ pos^ bite^ 
bamboosle^ and several others. Most of them he 
fairly defeated, but one or two of them got the bet- 
ter of him, and are now freely introduced into the 
language, such as inob. Johnson also has put bam- 
boosle in his Dictionary, which he calls, indeed, a 
low word. Arbuthnot is his authority, but it was 
plainly used by him in the way of ridicule, and 
therefore it should either not have been in the 
Dictionary, at all, or such an authority should not 
ha\ e been given for it. 

It is exceedingly difficult, and requires an excel- 
lent judgment, to be able to descend to great sim- 
plicity, and yet to keep out every low expression, 
or idea. I do not tliink it is easy to be a thorough 
judge of pure diction in any language but our 
own, and not even in that, without a good deal 
of the knowledge of human life, and a thorough 
acquaintance with the best authors. Writers and 
speakers, of little judgment, ai^e apt, at times, to go 
into extremes, to swell too much on the one hand, 
and to fall into what is vulgar and offensive on the 
other. 

When speaking on simpiicit}^, I observe, that 
there is a simplicity in the taste and composition 
of a whole discourse, different from simplicity of 
sentiment and language in the particular parts. 
This will incline a man to avoid all unnecessaiy 
ornament, particularly the ornaments of fashion, 
and the peculiar dress, or mode of the tim.ejs. 



220 LECTURES ON 

We say, in architecture, that a building is in a 
simple style, when it has not a great multiplicity 
of ornaments, or is not loaded witli beauties, so to 
speak. It is very remarkable, that books Written 
in the same age will differ very much, one from 
another, in this respect ; and those which have 
least of the ornaments then in vogue continue in 
reputation, when the others are grown ridiculous. 
I will give you an instance of this. A snaall re- 
ligious treatise, Scougal's Life of God^^in the 
Soul of Man, which is written with greit sim- 
plicity, and yet dignity, and may now HJe read 
with pleasure and approbation, by personi of the 
best taste ; while most of the other writers of his 
age and country are ridiculous, or hardly intelli- 
gible. 

Perhaps it may help us to form right notions 
of simplicity, to consider, what are the opposites, 
or the greatest enemies to it. (1.) One is ab- 
straction of sentiment, or too great refinement of 
any kind : of this the greatest example in an 
author of merit, is the writer of the Rambler; 
almost every page of his writings furnishes us 
with instances of departure from simplicity, partly 
in the sentiment, and partly in the diction. 

(2.) Another, is allegory, and especially far- 
fetched allusions, as, in the example which the 
Spectator gives of a poet, w^ho speaks of Bacchus' 
cast coat : this is little better than a riddle^ and 
even those who discern it will take a little time 
to reflect, that, according to the headien mytho- 
logy, Bacchus was the god of wine ; wine is kept 
in casks, and therefore, an empty cask^ or at leai^t 
an useless oae> may be called Bacchus' cast coat* 



ELOqUENCE. 223 

(3.) A third enemy to simplicity is an aifec- 
tation of learniBg : This spoils simplicity many 
ways ; it introduces terms of art, which cannot be 
understood, but by those who are adepts in a par- 
ticular branch. Such persons have been long 
exposed to ridicule, under the name of pedants. 
Sometimes, indeed, the word pedantry has been 
in a manner confined to those addicted to classic 
literature, and who intermix every thing they say 
with scraps taken from the learned languages ; 
but this is quite improper, for lawyers, physicians, 
dunces, or schoolmasters, are equally ridiculous, 
when they fill their discourse with words drawn 
from their particular art. 

(4.) The only other enerny to simplicity I shall 
mention is, an: ambition to excel. This, perhaps, 
should not have been so much divided from the 
rest, as to be made the great principle from wihch 
the rest proceed. Nothing more certainly renders 
a man ridiculous, than an over- forwardness to dis- 
play his excellence; he is not content with plain 
things, and particularly with such things as every 
.body might say, because these would not dis- 
tinguish him. 

On the whole, as I observed, on sublimity, 
that one of the best and surest ways to attain it 
iwas to think nobly, so the best w^ay to write 
*fimply, is to think simply, to avoid all affectation, 
to attempt to form your manner of thinking to 
La nobk self-denial. A man little solicitous about 
>vhat people think of him, or rather having his at- 
ention fixed upon quite another purpose, viz. 
j^iving information, or producing conviction, will 



222 LECTURES ON I 

i 

only attain to a simple manner of writing, and ) 
indeed, he will write best in all respects. i 

As to the mixed style or manner of writing, as j 
it consists of the mixture of the other two, I shall j 
not need to say any thing by way of explaining it, \ 
but only make a remark or two, of the use and ^ 
application of it. The mixed kind of writing ; 
chiefly consists of history and controversy. The I 
great quality necessary to execute it properly, is j 
soundness of judgment, to determine on what \ 
subjects, and on what parts of subjects, it is pro- j 
per to write with simplicity, and on what with j 
force — One would wish not to go beyond, but i 
just to gratify a reader's inclination in this respect. 

There are many cases in history, where the 
greatest sublimity, both of sentiments and lan- 
guage, is both admitted and required, particulai^y, 
all the beauty and all the force that can be admit- 
ted into description, is of importance in history. I 
Those who will read in Robertson's history of 
Scotland, the account he gives of the astonish- 
ment, terror and indignation that appeared in the 
English court, when news was brought of the 
massacre at Paris, or in the same author, the ac- 
count of the execution of Mary, queen of Scots, 
will see the force and sublimity of descriptioii. 
The difference between sublimity of sentiment and 
language in an historian, and in a poet, or orator, 
seems to me to resemble the difference between ; 
the fire of a managed horse, when reined in by the 
rider, and marching with a firm and stately pace, i 
and the same, when strainii^g every nerve in the 
eaee r contention in a race. We shall enter a little ' 
into this matter, if we consider the different images 1 



ELOQUENCE. 223 

that are made use of in the different arts. In 
poetry, we say, a beautiful, striking, shining 
metaphor, fervent, glowing imagery. In oratory, 
we say, warm, animated, irresistible. In history, 
we use the words, force, nobleness, dignity, and 
majesty, particularly those last attributes, of dig- 
nity and majesty. Herodotus has been often 
called the father of history, though I confess I 
apprehend he has obtained this title, chiefly, be- 
cause of his antiquity, and his being the first that 
ever gave any thing of a regular history ; but, 
though he has some things august enough, yet, 
he has admitted so mxany incredible stories, and 
even peculiarities, into his work, as very much 
detracts from its dignity ; we must, indeed, im- 
pute a good deal of this to the age in which he 
lived, and the impossibility of their distinguish- 
ing truth from falsehood, so well as those of later 
ages, who have had the advantage of all past ex- 
perience. 

History, indeed, is not only of the mixed kind 
of writing, so as to adm.it Sometimes sublimity, 
and sometimes simplicity, but those styles should 
be really blended together, in every part of it. 
The most noble and animated sentiments, charac- 
ters or descriptions in history, should yet be 
clothed with such a gravity and decency of garb, 
so to speak, as to give an air of simplicity to the 
whole. It is an advantage to a poem, that the 
author says but little in his own person, but 
makes the characters speak and say all ; and in 
an orator, it is an advantage, when he can carry 
the hearers off from himself to his subject ; but, 
above all, an historian should not so much as wish 



224 LECTURES ON 

to shine ; but with the coohiess of a philosopher, 
and the impartiality of a judge, should set the 
actors and transactions before the reader. 

Controversy is another subject of the mixed 
kind, which ought to be, in general, WTitten with 
simplicity, yet will sometimes admit of the orna- 
ments of eloquence : of this I shall speak a little 
more afterwards, and, therefore, shall now only 
add, that controversy differs from history, in 
that it sometimes admits of passion and warmth, 
when there seems to be a suiScient foundation 
laid for it ; a controversial writer Avill endeavour to 
interest his reader, and excite either contempt or 
indignation against his adversary. 

After having given you this view of the three 
great kinds of writing, or, as they are sometimes 
called, different styles, it may not be amiss to ob- 
serve, that there are distinctions of style, which it 
is proper that an able writer should observe, that 
do not range themselves, at least not fully and t 
properly, under these three heads, but may be | 
said to run through all the kinds of eloquence. ; 

Mariv eminent authors have said, that the i 
climates have some effect upon the style ; that in 
the warmer countries the style is more animated, 
and the figures more bold and glowing: and 
nothing is more common, than to ascribe a pecu- 
liaiity of style, and that paiticularly elevated and 
full of metaphor, to the orientals, as if it belonged 
to that part of the globe ; but, if I am not mis- I 
taken, both this and other things, such as courage, > 
that liave been attributed to the climate, belong ,, 
either not to the climate at all, or in a small ] 
mccisure, and are rather owing to the state of , 



society and manners of men. We have before 
had occasion to see that all narrow languages are 
figured. In a state, where there are few or no 
abstract ideas, how should there be abstract terms. 
If any body will read the poem of Finga!, which 
appears to have been composed on the ble^ik hilfs 
of the north of Scotland, he will find as many 
figures, and as bold, as in any thing composed in 
Arabia, or Persia. The state of society, then, is, 
what gives a particular colour to the style, and by 
this the styles of different ages and countries are 
distinguished — that the climate does but little, 
may be seen, just by comparing ancient and mo- 
dern Italy ; what difference bet^veen the strength 
mid force of the ancient Latin tongue, and the pre- 
sent Italiim language, in the expression of senti-^ 
ments ? it must, therefore, vary with sentiments 
and manners ; and what difference between the 
stern and inflexible bravery of a free ancient Ro- 
man, and the efteminate softness of a modern 
Italian? yet, they breathed the same air, and 
were nursed by the same soil. I v/ill just go a 
little off from the subject, to say, that a very late 
author, (lord Kaimes), seems to think, that the 
courage of mankind is governed by the climates ; 
he says, that the northern climates produce hard- 
ened constitutions, and bold and firm minds ; 
that invasions have been made from north ta 
south: but I apprehend he may be mistaken 
here, both in his facts, and the reasons of them — 
Invasions have not always been made from north 
to south : for the Roman arms penetrated very 
far to the north of their territory ; the first great 
conquerors of tlie east, in Egvpt and Babylon^ 

V 2 



226 LECTURES ON 

carried their arms to the north : and where the 
conquest ran the other way, it was owing to other 
circumstances ; and Dean Swift says, much 
nearer the truth, it was from poverty to pknty. 

The design of this digression is to show, that 
not only the circumstances that appear in a lan- 
guage, but several others that have also been at- 
tributed to climate, owe very little to it, but to 
the state of mankind, and the progress of society. 
The maxim of that great modern writer, Mon- 
tesquieu, which he applies to population, is also 
true of language—- That natural causes are not, 
by far, so powerful as moral causes. Allowing, 
therefore, as some have affirmed, that the northern 
climates may give a roughness and harshness to 
the accent and pronunciation, I believe it is all 
that we can expect from climate ; the distinction 
of styles and composition must come from another 
originaL 



LECTURE X. 

HAVING, in a great measure, rejected the 
supposition, of the style in writing being affected 
by the climate, and shown that it rather takes its 
colour from the state of society, and the sentiments 
and manners of men, it follows, that all the great 
distinctions that take place in manners will have 
a correspondent effect upon language spoken, or 
written. When the manners of a people are little 
polished, there is a plainness or a roughness in the 
style* Absolute monarchies, and the obsequious 



ELOQUENCE. 225^ 

subjection introduced at the courts of princes, 
occasion a pompous swelling and compliment to 
be in request, different from the boldness, and 
sometimes ferocity, of republican states. 

Seneca, in remarking upon the Roman lan- 
guage, says. Genus dicendi mutatur per publicos 
mores, &c. This he exemplifies in the Roman 
language, which was short and dry, in the earliest 
ages, afterwards become elegant and ornate, and 
at last loose and diffuse. 

The style of an age, also, is sometimes formed 
by some one or more eminent persons, who, 
having obtained reputation, every thing peculiar 
to them, is admired and copied, and carried much 
into excess. Seneca has remarked this also, that 
commonly one author obtains the palm, and be- 
comes the model, and all copy him. Haec vitia 
unus aliquis inducit. And he gives a very good 
example of it, of which we may now^ judge, in 
Sallust. He also very properly observes, that 
all the faults that arise from imitation become 
worse in the imitator than in the example. Thus 
reproving the fault just now^ mentioned in our 
ancestors. 

It is remarkable that Seneca himself was another 
example of the same thing. His manner of ^iTiting-, 
which is peculiar, came to be the standard of the 
age. His manner has been called by critics, point 
and antithesis. A short sentence containing a 
strong sentiment, or a beautiful one, as it were, 
like a maxim by itself. For an example or two 
of this ; to express the destruction of Lyons he 
says, Lugdunum quod ostendebatur, &c. That 
Lyons, which was formerly shown, is now sought. 



228 LECTURES ON 

And on the same subject — Una nox, &c. Thers 
was but one night between a great city and none 
Quid est eques Romanus, &c. What ! is a Ro 
man knight a freed man or slave ! names genera 
ted by ambition or oppression, | 

The fault of this sententious manner of writing I 
does not lie in the particulars being blameable, bm I 
in the repetition and uniformity becoming tediou* i 
—when every paragraph is stuffed with sentences \ 
and bright sayings, generally having the same ' 
tune, it wearies the ear. The most remarkabk i 
book in the English language for putting continu- 1 
al smartness, sentence and antithesis, for elegance, j 
is the Gentleman instructed. I shall read you one \ 
paragraph — The misfortune of one breathes yi- 1 
gourinto the others : They carry on manfully the 
attack—Their heads run round with the glasses. 
Their tongues ride post. Their wits are jaded. ' 
Their reason is distanced. Brutes could not talk i 
better, nor men worse. Like skippers in a storm, ; 
they rather hallooed than spoke.v Scarce one heard ! 
his neighbour, and not one understood him ; so I 
that noise stood for sense, and every one passed 1 
for a virtuoso, because all played the fool to ex- 1 
travagance. ^ 

I shall not enlarge much faither upon the dif- ^' 
ference of style arising from the character of an^ 
age, as in the ages before the reformation, called* 
the times of chivalry, when military prowess wasi 
the great thing in request — their gallantry and he- • 
roism were to be seen in every writer. — At the ' 
time of the reformation and the revival of learning, ' 
their citations of the ancient writers and allusions I 
to tlie classic phrases disting:ui3hed every author. 



ELOQUENCE. 229 

In the age of the civil wars of England, of which 
religion was so much the cause, allusions to sin- 
gular expressions, and theological opinions, are 
every where to be met with, of which the great 
Milton is an example. 

But there is another distinction of styles, which 
is chiefly personal, and will distinguish one au- 
thor from another in the same age, and perhaps of 
the same or nearly the same abilities. Thereareseve- 
ral different epithets given to style in our language, 
which I shall mention in a certain order, which I 
suppose will contribute something to explain the 
meaning of them. We call a style simple, or plain, 
smooth, sweet, concise, elegant, ornate, just, ner- 
vous, chaste, severe. These are all different epithets, 
which will each of them convey to a nice critical 
ear something different, though I confess it is not 
easy to define them clearly, or explain them fully. 
Plainness and simplicity is when the author does 
not seem to have had any thing in view but to be 
understood, and that by persons of the weakest 
understanding. That ought to be in view in rna- 
jl ny writings, and indeed perspicuity will be found 
, to be a character of many styles, when there are 
other great qualities ; but we call that plain and 
I simple, when there is no discovery of literature, 
j and no attempt at the pathetic. ScougaPs Life of 
j God in the Soul of Man, and Dr. Evan's Ser- 
mons, are admirable patterns of this manner. (2) 
^ I would call that a smooth style, Vvhen the utmost 
^ care had been taken to measure the periods, arid to 
consult the ear on the structure of the sentence ; 
[Iforthis I know no author more remarkable than 
^Hervey, in his Meditations. (3.) Sweetness seems 



230 LECTURES ON j 

to me to differ from the former only, in that the j 
subjects and the images are generally pf a pleasing i 
or soothing nature, such as may particularly be ' 
seen in Mrs. Rowe's Letters ; perhaps also in a i 
more modern composition by a lady. Lady Mary | 
W. Montague's Letters. And indeed, when fe- | 
male authors have excelled, they generally do ex- 
cel in sweetness. (4) The next is conciseness. 
This is easily understood, it is just as much bre- 
vity as is consistent with perspicuity. It is a be?u- j 
ty in every writing, when other qualities are not | 
hurt by it. But it is peculiarly proper for critical i 
or scientific writing, because there we do not so 
much expect or want to know the author's senti- 
ments, but as soon as possible to learn the facts, to 
understand them fully, and range them methodi- j 
cally. There are many more authors who excel | 
in this respect in the French, than in the English | 
language. Not only the scientific WTitings, l^ut e- 1 
ven pohtical and moral writings, are drawn up by j 
them with great conciseness. There cannot be I 
greater conciseness than in Montesquieu's Spirit '\ 
of Lavv^s. Brow^n's Estimate of the manners and i 
principles of the times seems to be an imitation 'j 
of that author in his manner. In essay wri- i 
ting, David Hum.e seems to have as happily j 
joined conciseness and perspicuity as most of! 
our English writers. Some pious writers have] 
been as successful thisivay as most of our nation; | 
such as Mason's Sayings, and Mason on Self-j 
know^iedge. (5) A style is called elegant, Vvhen it 
formed by the principles of true taste, and much 
pains is taken to use the best and purest expres- 
sions that the language will afford. It is very com- 



ELOQUENCE. 231 

mon to join together ease and elegance. The 
great patterns we have of these are, Addison and 
Tillotson. Seed's Sermons too may be mentioned 
here, as very much exceUing in both these quaU- 
ties ; so also does David Hume. The other 
Hume, author of the Elements of Criticism, 
though a very good judge of writing, seems, in 
point of style, to be very defective himself. If 
he has any talent, it is conciseness and plainness ; 
but he is at the same time often abrupt and harsh. 
(6.) An ornate style may be said to be something 
more than elegant, introducing into a composition 
all the beauties of language, w^here they can find 
a place w^ith propriety. I mentioned before, that 
Hervey's style, in his Meditations, w^as exceed- 
ingly smooth and flowing. I may add, it has also 
the qualities of elegant and ornate. That style 
I is elegant, which is correct and free from faults ; 
that is ornate, which abounds with beauties. (7.) 
The next character of style is, that it is just. 
By this I understand, a particular attention to the 
truth and meaning of every expression. Justness 
i is, frequently joined with, or otherwise expressed 
! by precision ; so that (if I may speak so) to- 
' gether with a taste which will relish and produce 
I an elegance of language, there is a judgment and 
j accuracy which will abide the scrutiny of philo- 
\ sophy and criticism. Many w^ell turned periods 
and showy expressions will be found defective 
! here. This justness of style is scarcely ever 
[I found without clearness of understanding, so that 
ij it appears in accuracy of method, in the whole 
i discourse, as well as in the style of particular 
parts. Dr. Samuel Clark w^as a great example of 



232 lectur:es ON 

this. He was one of those few mathematicians 
who were good writers, and while he did not lose 
the life and fervour of the orator, preserved the 
precision of the natural philosopher. (8.) Ner- 
vous or strong is the next character of style, and 
this implies that in which the author does not 
wholly neglect elegance and precision. But he 
is much more attentive to dignity and force. 
A style that is very strong and nervous, might of- 
ten receive a little additional polish by a few more' 
epithets or copulatives, but cannot descend ta 
such minuteness. It is a fine expression of Rich-' 
ard Baxter, upon style, " May I speak plainly* 
^^ and pertinently, and somewhat nervously, I 
*' have my purpose." Baxter^ was a great ex-^ 
ample of a nervous style, with great neglect of 
elegance, and Dean Swift is an illustrious example 
of the same sort of diction, with a very considera- 
ble attention to elegance. Both the one and the 
other seem to wi^ite in the fulness of their hearts, 
and to me, without scruple, those terms are com- 
monly best, that first present themselves to a fer- 
tile invention and warm imagination, without 
waiting to choose, in their room, those that might 
be more smooth or sonorous, but less emphatic. 
(9.) Chastity of style, I think, stands particularly 
opposed to any embellishments that are not na- 
tural and necessary. Nay, we generally mean, 
by a very chaste wi^iter, one who does not admit 
even all the ornaments that he might, and M'hat 
ornaments he does admit are ahvays of the most 
decent kind, and the most properly executed. 
(10.) Severity of style has this title only, by Avay 
of comparison. That is a severe style, which ha-s 



ELOQUENCE. £33 

propriety, elegance and force, but seems rather 
to be above, and to disdain the ornaments which 
every body else would approve, and the greatest 
part of readers would desire. 



LECTURE XI. 

WE come now to the third general head, wliich 
was to speak of oratory, as it is divided into the 
several parts which constitute the art. These 
hav€ been generally the following, invention, dis- 
position, style or composition, pronunciation, in- 
cluding gesture. 

1. Invention. This is nothing else but finding 
out the sentiments by which a speaker or writer 
would explain what he has to propose, and the 
arguments by which he would enforce it. This 
subject is treated of very largely in most of the 
books of oratory, in which I think they judge ve- 
ry wrong. In by far the greatest number of cases, 
there is no necessity of teaching it, and where it 
is necessar}', I believe it exceeds the power of 
man to teach it with effect. The very first time, 
indeed, that a young person begins to compose,, 
the thing is so new to him, that it is apt to appear 
dark and difficult, and in a maimer impossible. 
But as soon as he becomes a little accustomed to 
it, he finds much more difficulty in selecting what 
is proper, than in inventing something that seems 
to be tolerable. There ai'e some persons, I confess 
whom their own stupidity, or that of their rela. 
tions^ forces to attempt public speaking, who are 

X 



234 LECTURES ON 

entirely barren, and not able to bring out 
any thing, either good or bad ; but this is ex- 
ceedingly rare, and when it does happen, it will be 
so burdensome to the man himself, that he 
must speedily give over the attempt. There 
are infinitely more who have plenty of matter, 
such as it is, but neither very valuable in itself, 
nor clothed in proper language. I think it hap- 
pens very generally, that those who are least con- 
cise and accurate are most lengthy and volu- 
minous. 

I will therefore not spend much time upon in- 
vention, leaving it to the spontaneous production 
of capacity and experience ; only observe that it 
is called a common place, from whence you draw 
your argument. That principle of law, nature, 
taste, experience, from which you fetch your to- 
pic, and apply it to your particular case, is a com- 
mon place ; as, for example, if I want to prove 
that a strict discipline in a society is best, I say 
that discipline which will, in the most effectual 
manner, restrain offences is certainly the best ; this 
is the topic, or common place. 

It w^ould be needless to point out the sources 
of invention, or show from whence alignments 
may be drawn, for they may be drawTi from all 
the characters and qualities of an action or person, 
and from all the circumstances that accompany it. 
If I mean to aggravate a crime or injury, I say it 
was done deliberately, obstinately, repeatedly, 
without temptation, against many warnings, and 
much kindness ; that its effects are veiy bad to a 
man's self, to others, to the character, the person, 
the estate, &c. If I want to speak in praise of a 



ELOqUENCE. 235 

free government, I mention its happy effects in 
giving security and happiness, promoting indus- 
try, encouraging genius, producing value ; and 
then I apply to experience, and shovv the happiness 
of free states, and the misery of those that have 
been kept in slavery : but I repeat the remark, 
that invention need not be taught, unless it be to 
one that never yet composed a sentence. There 
have been books of common places published, 
containing arguments and topics for illustration, 
and even similitudes — sayings of the ancients, &c. 
but they are of very little use, unless to a person 
that has no fund of his own, and then one that 
makes use of them is like a man v/alking on 
stilts ; they make him look very big, but he walks 
very feebly. 

2. The next division of the oratorial art is dis- 
position, or distribution. This is a matter of the 
utmost moment, and upon which instruction is 
both necessary and useful. By disposition, as a 
part of the oratorial art, I mean order in general, 
in the whole of a discourse or any kind of compo- 
sition, be it what it will. As to the parts of which 
a f ingle speech or oration consists, they will be 
afterwards considered. Before I proceed to explain 
or point out the way to attain good order, I w^ould 
just mention a few of its excellencies. 

(1) Good order in a discourse gives light, and 
makes it easily understood. If things are thrown 
together without method, each of them will be 
less understood, and their joint influence in lead- 
ing to a conclusion will not be perceived. It is a 
noble expression of Horace, who calls it lucidos 
rcloj clear order. It is common to say, when we 



236 LECTURES ON 

hear a confused discourse, ^' It had neither head nor 
tail, I could not understand what he would be at.'' 
(2) Order is necessary to force, as well as light ; 
this indeed is a necessary consequence of the other, 
for we shall never be persuaded by w^hat we do 
not understand. Very often the force of reason- 
ing depends upon the vuiited influence of several 
distinct propositions. If they are ranged in a just 
order, they will all have their effect, and support- 
one another ; if otherwise, it will be like a number 
of men attempting to raise a weight, and one pull- 
ing at one time, and another at another, which 
will do just nothing ; but if all exert their power 
at once, it will be easily overcome. 

(3.) Order is also useful for assisting memory. 
Order is necessary even in a discourse that is to 
have a transient effect ; but if any thing is intend- 
ed to produce a lasting conviction, and to have a 
daily influence, it is still more necessary. When 
things are disposed in a proper order, the same 
concatenation that is in the discourse takes place 
in the memory, so that when one thing is remem- 
bered, it immediately brings to remembrance 
what has an easy and obvious connexion with it. 
The association of ideas linked together by any 
tie is very remarkable in our constitution, and is 
supposed to take place from some impression 
made upon the brain. If we have seen two per- 
sons but once, and seen them both at the same 
time only, or at the same place only, the remem- 
brance of the one can hardly be separated from 
the other. 1 may also illustrate the subject by 
another plain instance. Suppose I desire a person 
going to a city to do three or four things for me 



that are wholly unconnected, as to deliver a letter 
to one person — ^to visit a friend of mine, and to 
bring me notice how he is — to buy a certain book 
for me, if he can find it — -and to see whether any 
ship be to sail for Britain soon, it is very possible 
he may remember some of them, and forget the 
others ; but if I desire him to buy me a dozen of 
silver spoons, to carry them to an engraver to put 
my name upon them, and get ^ case to put them 
in, if he remembers one article, it is likely he will 
remember all of them. It is one of the best evi- 
dences that a discourse has been composed with 
distinctness and accuracy, if after you go away 
you can remember a good deal of it ; but there are 
sometimes discourses which are pompous emd 
declamatory, and \vhich you hear with pleasure, 
and some sort of approbation, but if you attempt 
to recollect the truths advanced, or the ai'guments 
in support of them, tiiere is not a trace of them to 
ibe found. 

(4) Order conduces also very much to beaut3\ 
Order is never omitted when men give the prin- 
iciples of beauty, and confusion is disgustful just 
;on its own account, whatever the nature of the 
confused things mav be. If vou were to see a vast 
jheap of fine furniture, of different kinds, lying in 
|:onfusion, you could neither perceive half so dis- 
tinctly what was there, nor could it at all have 
rsuch an effect, as if every thing was disposed in 
\ just order, and placed v/here it ought to stand ; 
jiay., a much smaller quantity, elegantly disposed, 
jvould exceed in grandeur of appearance a heap 
pf the most costly things in nature. 

(5) Order is also necessary to brevity. i\con- 
X 2 



238 ^ LECTURES ON 

fused discourse is almost never short, and is al- 
ways filled with repetitions. It is with thought, in 
this respect, as with things visible ; for to return 
to the former similitude, A confused heap of 
goods or furniture fills much more room than 
when it is ranged and classed in its proper order, 
and every thing carried to its proper place. 

Having shown the excellence of precision and j 
method, let us ne:^t try to explain what it is, and i 
that I may have some regard to method while I ; 
am speaking of the very subject, I shall take it in j 
three lights. (1) There must be an attention to or- j 
der in the disposition of the whole piece. What- i 
ever the parts be in themselves, they have also a | 
relation to one another, and to the whole body, I 
(if I may speak so) that they are to compose. \ 
Every work, be it what it will, history, epic po- ] 
em, dramatic poem, oration, epistle, or essay, is i 
to be considered as a whole, and a clearness of 
judgment in point of method will decid.e the 
place and proportion of the several parts of which 
they are composed. The loosest essay, or where 
form is least professed or studied, ought yet to 
have some shape as a whole, and we may say of 
it, that it begins abruptly or ends abruptly, or 
some of the parts are misplaced. There are often 
to be seen pieces in which good things are said, 
and well said, and have only this fault, that they 
are unseasonable and out of place. Horace says, 
in his art of poetry, what is equally applicable to 
every sort of composition, '^Denique sit quod vis 
'^\ simplex duntaxat etunum," and shortly after, 
" In felix operis summa, quia ponere totum 
nesciet.'' 



^ ELOQUENCE. 239 

This judgment in planning the whole will par- 
ticularly enable a person to determine both as to 
the place and proportion of the particular parts, 
whether they be not only good in themselves, 
but fit to be introduced in such a work, and it 
will also (If I may speak so) give a colour to the 
whole composition. The necessity of order in the 
whole structure of a piece shows, that the rule is 
good which is given by some, that an orator, be- 
fore he begin his discourse, should concentrate the 
subject as it were, and reduce it to one single pro- 
position, either expressed, or at least conceived in 
his mind. Every thing should grow out of this 
as its root, if it be in another principle to be ex- 
plained ; or refer to this as its end, if it be a point 
to be gained by persuasion. Having thus stated 
the point clearly to be handled, it will afford a sort 
of criterion whether any thing adduced is proper 
or improper. It will suggest the topics that are 
just and suitable, as well as enable us to reject 
whatever is in substance improper, or in size dis- 
proportionate to the design. Agreeably to this 
principle, I think that not only the subject of a 
single discourse should be reduceable to one pro- 
position, but the general divisions or principal 
heads should not be many in number. A great 
number of general heads both burdens the memo- 
ry, and breaks the unity of the subject, and car- 
ries the idea of several little discourses joined to- 
gether, or to follow after one another. 

2. Order is necessary in the subdivisions of a 
subject, or the way of stating and marshalling of 
the several portions of any general head. This is 
applicable to all kinds of composition, and all 



240 LECTURES ON 

kinds of oratory, sermons, law pleadings, speeches. 
There is always a division of the parts, as well as 
of the whole, either expressed formally and nume- 
rically, or supposed^ though suppressed. And it 
is as much here as any where, that the confusion 
of inaccurate writers and speakers appears. It is al- 
ways necessarj^ to have some notion of the whole 
of a piece, and the larger divisions being more 
bulky, to so speak, disposition in them is more 
easily perceived, but in the smaller, both their or- 
der and size is in danger of being less attended 
to. Observe, therefore, that to be accurate and 
just, the subdivisions of any composition, such I 
mean as are (for example) introduced in a nume- 
rical series, 1, 2, 3, &c. should have the follow- 
ing properties: (1.) They should be clear and 
plain. Every tiling indeed should be clear, as far 
as he can make it, but precision and distinctness 
should especially appear in the subdivisions, just 
as the bounding lines of countries in a map. For 
this reason the first part of a subdivision should 
be like a short definition, and when it can be 
done, it is best expressed in a single term ; for 
example, in giving the character of a man of 
learning, I may propose to speak of his genius, 
his erudition, hi^ industry, or application. 

(2.) They should be truly distinct; that is, 
every body should perceive that they are really 
different from one another, not in phrase or word 
only, but in sentiment. If you praise a man first 
for his judgment, and then for his understanding; 
they are either altogether or so nearly the same, 
or so nearly allied, as not to require distinctiom 
IJiaveheard a minister on John xviL 11. Holy 



ELOqUEVCE. - 241 

father, See. in showing how God keeps his peo- 
ple, says, (1) He keeps their feet. He shall keep 
thy feet from from falling. (2.) He keeps their 
way. Thou shalt keep him in all his ways. Now, 
it is plain that these are not two different things, 
but two metaphors for the same thing. This indeed 
was faulty also in another respect ; for a metaphor 
ought not to make a division at all. 

(3.*) Subdivisions should be necessary ; that 
is to say, taking the word in the loose ancl popular 
sense, the subject should seem to demand tliem. 
To multiply divisions, even where they may be 
made really distinct, is tedious, and disgustful, 
unless where they are of use and importance to our 
clearly comprehending the meaning, or feeling 
the force of what is said. If a person in the map 
of a country should give a different colour to eve- 
ry three miles, though the equality of the propor- 
tion would make the division clear enough, yet it 
would appear disgustingly superfluous. In writing 
the history of an eminent person's life, to divide 
it into spaces of 10 years, perhaps, would make 
the view of the whole more exact ; but to divide 
it into single years or months would be finical 
and disagreeable. The increase of divisions leads 
almost unavoidably into tediousness. 

(4.) Subdivisions should be co-ordinate; that 
is to sa}% those that goon in a series, 1, 2, 3, &c. 
should be as near as possible similar, or of the 
same kind. This rule is transgressed when either 
the things mentioned are wholly different m kind, 
w when they include one another. This will be 
well perceived, if we consider how a man would 
describe a sensible subject, a country, for exam» 



242 LECTURES ON 

pie; New-Jersey contains (1) Middlesex. (2) So- 
merset county. (3) The townships of Princeton, 
(4) Morris county. So, if one, in describing the 
chai'acter of a real christian, should say, faith, ho- 
liness, charity, justice, temperance, patience, this 
would not do, because holiness includes justice, 
&c. When, therefore, it seems necessaiy to men- 
tion different particulars, that cannot be made co- 
ordinette, they should be made subordinate. 

(5.) Subdivisions should be complete, and ex- 
haust the subject. This indeed is common to all 
divisons, but is of most importance here, where it 
is most neglected. It may be said, perhaps, how 
can we propose to exhaust any subject? By ma- 
king the divisions suitable, particularly in point 
of comprehension, to the nature of the subject ; 
as an example, and to make use of the image be- 
fore introduced of giving an account of a country 
— I may say, the province of New- Jersey consists 
of two parts. East and West-Jersey. If I say it 
consists of the counties of Somerset, &c. I must 
continue till I have enumerated all the counties, 
otherwise the division is not complete. In the 
same manner, in public speaking, or any other 
composition, whatever division is made, it is not 
legitimate, if it does not include or exhaust the 
w^hoie subject, which may be done, let it be ever 
so great. For example : true religion may be di- 
vided various ways, so as to include the whole. 
I may say, that it consists of our duty to God, our 
neighbour and ourselves — or I may make but 
tAvo, our duty to God and man, and divide 
the last into two subordinate heads, our neigh- 
bour, and ourselves— or I mav sav, it consists 



ELOQUENCE. 243 

of faith and practice — or that it consists of two 
parts, a right frame and temper of mind, and a 
good life and conversation. 

(6.) Lastly, the sub-divisions of any subject 
should be connected, or should be taken in a 
series or order, if they will possibly admit of it. 
In some moral and intellectual subjects it may not 
be easy to find any series or natural order, as in 
an enumeration of virtues, justice, temperance 
and fortitude. Patience perhaps might as well be 
enumerated in any other order ; yet there is often 
an order that will appear natural, and the inver- 
sion of it unnatural — as we may say, injuries are 
done many ways to a man's person, chai'acter and 
possessions. Love to others includes the relation 
of family, kindred, citizens, country-men, fellow- 
creatures. 

(3.) In the last place there is also an order to 
be observed in the sentiments, which makes the 
illustration or amplification of the divisions of a 
discourse. This order is never expressed by nu- 
I merical divisions, yet it is of great importance, 
I and its beauty and force will be particularly felt. 
|.It is, if I may speak so, of a finer and more deli- 
cate nature than any of the others, more various, 
jand harder to explain. I once have said, that all 
^reasoning is of the nature of a syllogism, which 
lays down principles, makes comparisons, and 
draws the conclusion. But we must particularly 
guard against letting the uniformity and formality 
of a syllogism appear. In general, whatever esta- 
blishes any connection, so that it makes the sen- 
timents give rise to one another, is the occasion 
|Of order — sometimes necessity and utility point 



244 LECTirRES ON * I 

out the order as a good measure— *-As in telling a 
story, grave or humorous, you must begin by ; 
describing the persons concerned, mentioning , 
just as many circumstances of their character and j 
situation as are necessary to make us understand 
the facts to be afterwards related. Sometimes the r 
sensible ideas of time and place suggest an order, j 
not only in historical naiTations and in law plead- j 
ings, which relate to facts, but in drawing of cha- ( 
racters, describing the progress and effects of vir- j 
tue and vice, and even in other subjects, where | 
the connexion between those ideas and the thing j 
spoken of, is not very strong. — Sometimes, and i 
indeed generally, there is an order which proceeds j 
from things plain to things obscure. The begin- 
ning of a paragraph should be like the sharp point 
of a wedge, which gains admittance to the bulky 
part behind. It first affirms what every body feels i 
or must confess, and proceeds to what follows as j 
a necessary consequence : In fine, there is an or- \ 
der in persuasion to a paiticular choice, which \ 
may be taken two ways with equal advantage, j 
proceeding from the weaker to the stronger, or \ 
from the stronger to the weaker. As, in recom- j 
mending a pious and virtuous life, we may first 
say it is amiable, honourable, pleasant, profitable, 
even in the present life ; and, to crown all, makes 
death itself a fi^iend, and leads to a glorious im- 
mortality ; or, we may begin the other way, and 
say it is the one thing needful, that eternity is the 
great and decisive argument that should deter- 
mine our choice, though every thing else were in 
favour of vice; and then add, that even in the pre- 
sent life, it is a great mistake to think that bad 



EXOqUENCE. 245 

i men are gainers, &c. This is called sometimes 
the ascendmg and descending climax. Each of 
them has its beauty and use. It must be left to 
the orator's judgment to determine which of the 
two is either fittest for the present purpose, or 
which he finds himself at that time able to execute 
to the greatest advantage. 



LECTURE XII. 

THE next branch of this division is style, or 
composition. This, which is so great a part of the 
subject, has already been considered in one view, 
under the three great kinds of writing, and will 
again be mentioned under the two following heads, 
as well as the remarks at the close : yet I will 
drop a few things upon it in this place. 1. It is ne- 
cessary that a writer or speaker should be well 
acquainted with the language in which he speaks, 
its characters, properties and defects, its idioms, or 
peculiar terms and phrases, and likewise with as 
many other languages as possible, particularly 
such as are called the learned languages, the Latin 
and Greek. — Our own language is the English. 
A thorough acquaintance with it must be acquir- 
ed by extensive reading in the best authors, giv- 
ing great attention to the remarks made by cri- 
tics of judgment and erudition, and trying it our- 
selves in practice. Oar language, like most of 
the northern languages, is rough,* with a' frequent 
meeting of consonants, difficult of pronunciation ; 
it abounds in monosyllables. You mav write a 

Y 



246 LECTURES ON 

whole page, and scarce use one word that has 
more than one syllable ; this is a defect, and to be 
avoided when it can be done consistently with 
other properties, particularly simphcity and per- 
spicuity. Our language is said to have an over- 
proportion of the letter S, and therefore called a 
hissing language. This a writer of judgment will 
endeavour to avoid, wherever he can do it with 
propriety and elegance. A thorough acquain- 
tance with the genius and idioms of our own lan- 
guage can scarcely be attained, without some ac- 
quaintance with others, because it is comparison 
of one with another which illustrates all. There 
are not only smaller differences between one lan- 
guage and another, but there are some general dif- 
ferences in the arrangement of words, in the an- 
cient and modern languages : in the Greek and 
-^ Latin, the governed words are pretty generally 
before the verb. It is a mistake for us to say that 
the English order is the natural order, as some 
have done.— It is certain that they are either both 
alike natural and equally obvious, when once cus- 
tom has fixed them, or that the ancient order 
is the more natural of the two. There are two 
things, the action and the object, to be conjoined, 
and it is fully as proper to turn your attention 
first to the object, before you tell what you are to 
say of it, or vvhat you would have done with it, 
as after. Istud scalpellum quod in manu habes, 
commoda mihi paulisper, si placet : and in longer 
and more involved sentences, the suspending the 
sentiment for some time, till it be compleated, is 
both more pleasing and more forcible. Our own 
language admits of a little transposition, and be- 



ELOQUENCE. 247 

comes grander and more sonorous by it, both in 
poetry and prose. 

2. We may attend to the arrangement of the 
clauses of a sentence, and their proportion and 
sound. Every sentence may be considered as 
' having so many clauses or members, which have, 
each of them some meaning, but which is not 
complete till it is closed. Every sentence is ca- 
pable of receiving some degree of harmony by a 
proper structure ; this it receives, when the most 
important ideas and the most sonorous expres- 
sions occupy the chief places ; but what, you v/ill 
say, are the chief places ? We naturally, says an 
eminent French author on this subject, love to 
present our most interesting ideas first ; but this 
order, which is dictated by self-love, is contrary 
to what we are directed to by the art of pleasing, 
— The capital law of this art is, to prefer others 
to ourselves, and therefore the most striking and 
interesting ideas come with* the greatest beauty, as 
well as force, in the close. Where the difference 
does not lie in the ideas, the words or phrases that 
are most long and sonorous ought to be so dis- 
tinguished; this rule, however, will admit some ex- 
ception, when we are to persuade or instruct, for 
v/e must never seem to have sweetness and cadence 
chiefly in view. 

The rule of placing in a sentence the most im- 
portant ideas and expressions last, was taken no- 
tice of by ancient writers. In verbis observandum 
est, says one of them, ut a majoribus ad minus 
descendat oratio, melius enim dicitur, vir est op- 
timus, quam vir optimus est. Sometimes several 
monosyllables terminate a sentence well enough; 



248 LECTURES ON 

because in pronunciation they run into one, and 
seem to the hearers little different from a single 
word. It is an observation, that the ear itself often 
directs to the rule upon this subject. Some French 
criiics observe that some syllables in> their lan- 
guage, which are usually short, are produced in 
the end of a sentence ; for instance, Je suis votre 
serviteur monsieur, je suis le votre ; Avhere vot7^e 
is short in the first sentence, and long in the se- 
cond ; and I believe the same thing would hap- 
pen in translating that sentence literally into En- 
glish. 

The harmony of sentences is preserved either 
by a measured proportion, or regular gradation of 
the clauses : Cicero says upon this subject, Si 
membra, &c. In every sentence consisting of two 
members only, every body's ear will make them 
sensible^ that the last clause after the pause of the 
voice ought to be longest ; as in Shakespear, But 
yesterday, &c. In longer sentences there must 
be a greater variety, and several causes must con- 
tribute to determine the length of the clauses ; 
but it is plain the last m^ust be longer than the 
preceding ; and sometimes a regular gradation 
of more than two clauses has a very happy effect ; 
such as these of Cicero, Quorum quaestor fueram, 
&c. Again he says, in the same oration, Habet 
honorem, &c. There is another order, in which 
there are two equal, and one unequal member, 
and in that case, when the unequal member is 
shortest, it ought to be placed first; when it. is 
longest, it ought to be placed last, as in the two 
following examples ; Testis est Africa, &c. and, 
Eripite nos ex miseris, &c. There is another 



structure of the members of a sentence, in Avhich 
this rule is departted from, and yet it pleases, be- 
cause of a certain exact proportion, as that of 
Monsieur Fenelon, Dans sa douleur, &c. The 
first and last members are equal, and that which 
is in the middle is just double to each of them. 

Perhaps it ^^ ill be asked, must an author then 
give attention to this precise measure ? Must he 
take a pair of scales or compasses, to measure 
every period he composes ? By no means. No- 
thing would be more frigid and unsuccessful ; but 
it was proper thus to analyse the subject, and 
show in what manner the ear is pleased ; at the 
same time there is so great a variety and compass 
in the measures of prose, that it is easy to vaxy 
the structure and cadence, and make every thing 
appear quite simple and naturaL This leads m.e 
to the third remark upon style, 

3. That variety is to be particularly studied. If a 
writer thinks any particular structure necessary^ 
and forces every thing he has to say just into that 
form, it will be highly disagreeable, or if he is mucli 
enamoured with one particular kind of ornament, 
and brings it in too frequently, it will immediately 
disgust. There is a mixture in the principles of 
taste, a desire of uniformity and variety, simplici-^ 
ty and intricacy, and it is by the happy union of 
ail these, that delight is most effectually produced^ 
What else is necessary upon style v/ili fall, very 
properly, under some of the following heads. 

The last part of the oratorial art is pronunciation^ 
including gesture. This is of the utmost, and in- 
deed of universally confessed im.portance. The ef- 
fects of the different manner of delivering the sanxe 

y 2 



^50 LECTURES ON 

thing are very great. It is a famous subject, large- 
iy treated of by all critical writers. It seems to 
have been nicely studied by the ancients, and if we 
may judge from some circumstances, their action 
has been often very violent. We are told of Cice- 
ro, that when he first went to the bar, the a iolence 
of his action, and what is called contentio laterum, 
w^as such as endangered his constitution, so that 
he took a journey for his health, and on his return 
took to a more cool and managed way of speaking. 
There is also soiricwhere in his Avritings, an ex- 
pression to this purpose, nee fuit etiam, quod 
minimum est, supplosio pedis. As if stamping 
with the foot had been one of the least violent mo- 
tions then in use. We cannot judge of this mat- 
ter very well at such a distance. There is a dif- | 
ference in the turn of different nations upon this i 
subject. The French and Italians have much | 
more warmth and fire in their manner^ than the ! 
British. I remember once to have been told that I 
no man could perceive the beauty of Raphael's | 
picture of Paul preaching at Athens, unless he i 
had seen a Frenchman or Italian in the pulpit. ;| 
Leaving you to read arid digest all the critcisims ^ 
and remarks upon this subject to be met with in i] 
different authors, I shall only give a few direc-. ^i 
lions, that I esteem most useful, for avoiding im- ;| 
proprieties and attaining some degree of excel- ^ 
knee in this respect. I 

I . Study great sincerity ; try to forget every ^ 
purpose but the very end of speaking, informa- i 
lion and persuasion. Labour after that sort of 1 
presence of mind which ai^ises from self-denial, ^ 
rather than from courage. Nothing produces ;, 



ELOQUENCE. 251 

more aukwardness than confusioti and embarrass- 
ment. Bring a clown into a magnificent palace, 
and let him have to appear in the presence of per- 
sons of high rank, and the fear and solicitude he 
has, about his own carriage and discourse, makes 
both the one and the other much more absurd 
and aukward than it would have otherwise been. 

2. Learn distinct articulation, and attend to all 
the common rules of reading which are taught in 
the English grammars. Articulation is, giving 
their full force and powers to the consonants as 
as well as to the vowels. Tiie difference between a 
well articulated discourse and one defective in 
this respect is, that the first you will hear dis- 
tinctly as far as you can hear the voice ; the other 
you will hear sound enough, yet not understand 
almost any thing that is said. Practice in compa- 
ny is a good way to learn this and several other 
excellencies in discourse. 

3. Another rule is, to keep to the tone and key 
of dialogue, or common conversation, as much as 
possible. In common discourse, where there is no 
aftectation, men speak properly. At leasts though 
even here there are differences from nature — 
some speaking with more sweetness and grace 
than others, yet there is none that falls into any of 
those unnatural rants or ridiculous gestures, that 
are sometimes to be seen in public speakers. 

4. It is of considerable consequence to be ac- 
customed to decency of manners in the best com- 
pany. This gives an ease of carriage and a sense 
of delicacy, which is of great use in forming the 
deportment of an orator. 



252 LECTURES ON 

5. In the last place, every one should consider 
not only what is the manner best in itself, or eveiv- \ 
best suited to the subject, but what is also best 
suited to his own capacity. One of a quick ani- 
mated spirit by nature may allow himself a much 
greater violence of action, than one of a colder 
disposition. If this last works himself up to vio- i 
lence, or studies to express much passion, he will ! 
not probably be able to carry it through, but will I 
relapse into his own natural manner, and by the i 
sensible difference betv> een one part of his dis- 
course and another render himself ridiculous. 
Solemnity of manner should be substituted by all. 
such persons m the room of fire. 



LECTURE XIII. 

WE come now to the fourth general division, 
of this subject, which is, that its object or end is 
different. The ends a writer or speaker may be 
said to aim at are, information^ demonstration, per» 
suasion, and entertainment. I need scarce tell you 
that these are not so wholly distinct, but that they 
axe frequently intermixed, and that more than one 
of them may be in view at the same time. Per- 
suasion is also used in a sense that includes them 
all. The mtentionof all speech, or writing, which 
is but recorded speech, is to persuade^ taking the. 
word with latitude. Yet I think you will easily 
perceive that there are very different sorts of com- 
position, in some of which one of the above men- 
tioned purposes, and in others a different one^ 



ELCKyJENCE. 253 

takes the lead, and gives the colour to the whole 
performance. Great benefit will arise from keep- 
ing a clear view of what is the end proposed. It 
will preserve the writer from a vicious and mista- 
ken taste. The same thoughts, the same phrase- 
ology, the same spirit in general, running through 
a writing, is highly proper in one case, and absurd 
in another. There is a beauty in every kind of 
writing when it is well done, and impropriety or 
bad taste will sometimes show themselves in pie- 
ces very inconsiderable — If it w^ere but inditing a 
message card, penning an article in a news-paper, 
or drav/ing up an advertisement, persons accus- 
tomed to each of these will be able to keep to the 
common form, or beaten track ; but if any thing 
different is to be said, good sense and propriety, 
or their contraries, will soon show themselves. 

The writings which have information as their 
chief purpose, are history, fable, epistolary wri- 
ting, the common intercourse of business or friend- 
ship, and ail the lower kinds. The properties 
which should reign in them are the following. (1) 
Plainness. (2) Fulness, (3) Precision, and (4) Or- 
der. Plainness it is evident they ought to have ; 
and indeed not barely perspicuity, so as to be in- 
telligible, but an unaffected simplicity, so as not 
to seem to have any thing higher in view than to 
be understood. (2) When we say that fulness is 
a property of writings w^hich have information as 
their purpose, it is not meant to recommend a 
long or diffuse narration, but to intimate that no- 
thing should be omitted in giving an account of 
any thing, which is of importance to its being 
truly and completely understood. Let a writer be 



254 LECTURES ON 

as large as he pleases in what he says, if he omits 
circumstances as essential as those he mentions, 
and which the reader would naturally desire to 
know, he is not fulL Many are very tedious, and 
yet not full. The excellence of a narrative is to 
contain as many ideas as possible, provided they 
are interesting, and to convey them in as few 
words as possible, consistently with perspicuity, 
(3) Precision, as a quality of narration, belongs 
chiefly to language. Words should be chosen 
that are truly expressive of the thing in view, and 
all ambiguous as well as superfluous phrases care- 
fully avoided. The reader is impatient to get to the 
end of a story, and therefore he must not be stop- 
ped by any thing but what you are sure he would 
be glad to know before he proceeds further. (4) 
The last particulai' is order, which is necessary in 
all writings, but especially in narration. There it 
lies chiefly in time and place, and a breach of order 
in these respects is more easily discerned and more 
universally offensive than in any other. Common 
hearers do not always know when you violate or- 
der in ranging the arguments on a moral subject ^ 
but if you bring in a story abruptly, or tell it con- 
fusedly, either in a letter or a discourse, it will be 
instantly perceived, and those will laugh at you, 
who could not tell it a whit better themselves. 

Imagination is not to be much used in writings 
of the narrative kind. Its chief use in such wri- 
tings is in description. A man of a v/arm fancy 
will paint strongly, and a man of a sentimental 
turn will interest the aflPections even by a mere re- 
cital of facts. But both the one and the other 
should be kept in great moderation ; for a warm 



ELOQUENCE. 255 

fancy is often joined to credulity, and the senti- 
mental person is given to invention : so that he 
will turn a real history into half a romance. In 
history a certain cool and dispassionate dignity 
is the leading beauty. The writer should appeal^ 
to have no interest in characters or events, but 
deliver them as he finds them. The character 
which an illustrious historian acquires from this 
self-denial, and being, as it were, superior to.all 
the personages, how great soever, of whom he 
treats, has something awful and venerable in it. 
It is distinguished, by this circumstance, from the 
applause given to the poet or orator. 

Demonstration is the end in view in all scien- 
tific writings, whether essays, systems, or contro- 
versy. The excellencies of this kind of writing 
may be reduced to the three following : Perspi- 
cuity, order, and strength. The two first are ne- 
cessary here, as every where else, and the compo- 
sition should be strong and nervous, to produce a 
lasting conviction ; more force of language is to 
be admitted, at least more generally in this kind 
than in the former ; but a great deal less of ima- 
gination and fancy than even there. Whenever a 
scientific writer begins to paint and adorn, he is 
forgetting himself and disgusting his reader. This 
will be sensibly felt, if you apply it to the mathe - 
matics. The mathematician is conversant only 
with sensible ideas, and therefore the more naked 
and unadorned every thing that he says is, so much 
the better. How would it look, if a mathematician 
should say, do you see this beautiful, small, taper, 
acute angle ? It always approaches to this absur- 
[dity, when, in searching after abstract truth, v/ri- 



25B LECTURES OX 

ters introduce imagination and fancy. I am sen- 
sible that, having mentioned controversy as be- 
ionging to this class, many may be surprised that 
I have excluded imagination altogether, since com- 
inonly all controversial writers do, to the utmost 
of their ability, enlist imagination in the service 
of Reason. 1 here is nothing they are so fond of, 
as exposmg the weakness of their adversaries by 
jstrokes ol raillery and humour. This 1 did on pur- 
pose that I may state this matter to you clearly. 
Controversy should mean, and very generally 
such writei^s pretend to mean, weighing the argu- 
ments on each side of a contested question, in or- 
der to discover the truth. What strong profes- 
sions of impartiality have we sometimes from the 
very champions of a party quarrel ? while yet it is 
plain that searching after truth is what they never 
think of, but maintaining, by every ait, the cause 
whicli they have already espoused. 

I do not deny that there are sometimes good 
reasons for making use of satire and ridicule, in 
controversies of the political kind, and sometimes 
it is necessary in self-defence. If any writer in be- 
half of a party attempts to expose his adversaries 
to public scorn, he ought not to be surprised, if the 
measure he metes to others is measured out to 
him again. What is unlawful in the aggressor, 
becomes justifiable, if not laudable, in the defen- 
der. Sometmies it is necessary to expose tyrants 
or persons in power, who do not reason, but pu- 
nish, and sometimes it is necessary to bring down 
self-sufficient persons, with whom there is no deal- 
ing, till their pride is levelled a little with this dis- 
maying weapon. Dr. Brown has set this matter 



ELOQUENCE. 25T 

in a very clear light in his Essays on the Charac- 
teristics, where he says, that ridicule is not the test 
of truth, but it may be very useful to expose and 
disgrace known falshood. 

But when controversy is really an impartial 
search after truth, it is the farthest distant imagin- 
able, either from passionate declamation on the 
one hand, or sallies of wit and humour on the other. 
There is one instance of a control ersy carried on 
between Dr. Butler and Dr. Clark, upon the sub- 
ject of space and personal identity, in wiiich there 
did not seem to be any design upon either side, 
but to discover the truth. It ended in the entire 
conviction and satisfaction of one of them, which 
he readily and openly acknowledged : and I think 
in such an instance there is much greater glory to 
be had in yielding, than in conquering. There is 
great honor in candidly acknowledging a mistake, 
but not much in obtaining a victory in support of 
truth. It is worth while just to mention, that 
this was far from being the case in another con- 
troversy before two, who were also very great 
men, Mr. Locke and Dr. Stillingfleet, upon in- 
nate ideas. They not only supported each his sen- 
timents, with warmth and keenness, but descend- 
ed to all the malice of personal reproach, and all 
the littleness of verbal criticism. 

The next great end that may be in view is per- 

, suasion. This being the great and general sub- 

: ject of oratory, has had most said upon it in every 

i^ age. That you may understand what I mean by 

distinguishing it from information, demonstration, 

and entertainment, observe, that persuasion is 

when we would bring the reader or hearer to a 

Z 



258 LECTURES ON 

determinate choice, either immediately upon the 
spot for a particular decision, as in an assembly 
or court of justice, or in a more slow and lasting 
way, as in religious and moral writings. But par- 
ticularly persuasion is understood to be in view, 
as the effect of a single discourse. When this is 
the purpose, tliere are opportunities for all the 
ways of speaking within the compass of the orato- 
rial art. There axe times when an orator must 
narrate simply — there ai^e times when he must 
reason strongly — and there are times when he 
may wound satirically. It must be remembered, 
however, that too great an infusion of wit takes 
away both from the dignity and force of an ora- 
tion. We shall see under the next head that it 
cannot be admitted in religious instructioi: ; but 
when you are speaking against an adversaiy that 
is proud and conceited, or when you want to 
make your hearers despise any person or thing, 
as well as hate them, wit and satire may be of use. 
A minister of state is very often attacked in this 
way with propriety, and success. It is sometimes 
allowed to relieve the spirits of the audience ^vhen 
they begin to ^ag. In diis view Cicero recom- 
mends tht tirba7iit as y andpractises it himself ; but 
at the same time he intimates,, that it should be 
done sparingly, and with ca.ution — Quo tanquam 
sale conspergatiir oratio. Wit, therefore, is to be 
absolutely excluded from scientific writings, and 
very rarely to be used in serious persuasion. 

The last end of speaking and writing I shall 
mention^ is entertaiiunent. This incKides all such 
^vTitings as have the amusement or entertainment 
of the hearers or readers as the only, tlie chief, or 



ELOQUENCE. 259 

at least one, great end of the composition. This 
is the case with all poetical compositions. They 
may pretend to write for the instruction of others, 
but to please them and obtain their favour is pro- 
bably more their purpose. At any rate they must 
conient themselves with taking in both, and say 
with Horace, Et prcdessevolunt £s? delectare poetce. 
Sweetness, tenderness, and elegance of style, 
ought to chai^acterize these sorts of composition. 
Here is the greatest room for imagination and fan- 
cy. Here is the dominion of wit and humour. It 
is an observation of some, that the word humour is 
pecuhar to the English language ; that the eiitra- 
pelia in Greek, sales ^ urbanitas in Latin, have 
ail the same meaning with our general term xuit ; 
but that htimotir denotes a particular kind of wit, 
consisting chiefly of irony. But if the word is pe- 
culiar to the English language, it is certain that 
the thing itself is far from being peculiar to the 
English nation. Perhaps Homer's Batrychoma- 
chia may be said to be tlie most a.ncient example 
of it upon record. Lucian's Dialogues have it in 
high perfection, though it must be o\\axed that it 
seems partij3ularly to have fiourished in modern 
times. Fonteneile^s Dialogues of the Dead, and 
Boiieau's Satires, a.re famious examples of it; but 
none ever exceeded Cervantes, the celebrated ?ai- 
tiior of Don Quixotte. That piece is highly en- 
tertaining to an English reader under two great 
disadvantages. One is, its being transi?tted into 
another language. Now, wit is more difficult to 
franslate than any other subject of composition. 
It is easier to translate undiminished die force of 
eloquence, than the poignancy of wit. The other 



260 LECTURES ON 

disadvantage is, its being written in ridicule of a 
eharacter th:.t now no more exists ; so that we 
have not the opportui^ty of comparing the copy 
with the original. 

Vv e must also observe that wit in general, and 
this species of it in particular, has often appeared 
in the highest perfection in Britain, both in prose 
and poetry ; Siiakespear's dram.atic pieces abound 
with it, and Dr. Donnes' Satires. It is in high 
perfection in Marvel's Rehearsal transprosed ; Al- 
sop's Melius Inquirendum ; but, above all, in 
Swift's writings, prose and verse. 

It is observed somtiimes, that the talent of hu- 
mour is often possessed, in a very high degree, by 
persons of the meanest rank, who are themsehes 
ignorant of it ; in them it appears chiefly in con- 
versation, and in a m.ailner that cannot be easily 
put upon paper. But as to those who think fit to 
try this manner from the press, they should be 
well assured before hand, that they really possess 
the talent. In many other particulars, a real taste 
for it, and a high admiration of any thing, is a con- 
siderable sign of some degre^ of the talent itself; 
but it is far fi^om being so in wit and humour. 
Mr. Pope tells us, that " Gentle dullness ever 
loves a joke;" and we see every day people aim- 
ing at v» it, who produce the most miserable and 
shocking performances : sometimes they do not 
excite laughter, but loathing or indignation ; 
sometimics they do excite laughter, but it is that 
of contempt. There is a distinction, which every 
one should endeavour to understand and remem- 
ber, between a wit and a droll ; the first makes 
you laugh at what he says, and the object of his 



KLOQVEKCZ, 261 

c»atire, and the second makes you laugh at his own 
expens,e, from his absurdity and meanness.- 



lecturt: xiw 

WE come now to the fifth general division of 
eloquence, as its subject is different, under which 
we may consider the three great divisions of the 
pulpit, the bar, and promiscuous assemblies; all 
the general principles of composition are common 
to these three kinds, nor can any man make a tru- 
ly distinguished figure in any one of them, without 
being well acquainted with literature and taste. 
Some peculiarities in difterent ways of writing 
have been already touched at, all which i suppose 
you gave attention to ; but there are still some 
• differences, as the scene in which a man is to move 
in life is different, which are highly w'orthy of ob- 
servation. I will therefore consider each of these 
separately, and try to point out the qualities for 
which it ought to be distinguished ; or delineate 
the character of an accomplished m.inister, lawyer 
and senator. - 

I begin ^\dth the pulpit. Preaching the gospel 
of Christ is a truly noble employment, and the care 
of souls a very important trust. The qualities of 
most importance, I think, ai^e as follow. 

1, Piety — To have a firm belief of that gospel 
he is called to preach, and a lively sense of reli- 
gion upon his own heart. Duty, interest and uti- 
lity, all conspire in requiring this qualificedion ; it 
is of the utmost moment in itself^ and what mea 

z 2 



262 rircTUREs on 

will the least dispense with, in one of that profes- 
sion. Ail men, good and badj agree in despising a 
loose or profane minister. It discovers a terrible 
degree of depravity of heart, and those that begin 
so, seldom alter for the better. The very familiar 
acquaintance which they acquire with serious 
thoughts and spiritual subjects serves to harden 
them against the arrows of conviction, and it is 
little wonder, that for such daring wickedness God 
should leave them to themselves, or sentence them 
to perpetual barrenness ; but whilst I think it my 
duty thus to warn you, I must beg leave to guard 
it against abuse, lest, while we are aggravating the 
sin of profane ministers, others should think them- 
selves at libertv, who have no view to that sacred 
cilice. We have even seen persons decline the 
sacred office, because they did not think they had 
true religion, and then with seeming ease and qui- 
etness set themselves to some other business, as 
if in that therc was no need of religion at all. 
Alas ! after all that can be said of the guilt and 
danger of an irreligious minister, there is an infi- 
nite danger to every one who shall go out of this 
life an irreligious man. Will it not be poor con- 
solation, think you, in the hour of sickness or 
death, that though you must perish everlastingly, 
you go to hell not as a minister, but a lawyer or 
a physician. I do truly think this has been a pil- 
low of security to many poor thoughtless souls, 
and that they have actually rid themselves of con- 
viction by this mistaken comfort, as if there was 
much merit in it, that they would not be minis- 
:fcrs, because they v/anted religion. Remember 
rthis then, in a single word;> that there is neither 



ELOqiTENCE. 26S 

profession nor station, from the king on the throne 
to the beggar on the dunghill, to whom a concern 
ifor eternity is not the one thing needful. 

But let me just take notice of the great advan- 
tage of true religion to one destined for the work 
of the ministry* (1.) It gives a man the know- 
ledge that is of most service to a minister. Ex- 
perimental knowledge is superior to all other, and 
necessary to the perfection of every other kind. 
It is indeed the very possession or daily exercise 
of that which it is the business of his life, and the 
duty of his office, to explain and recommend. 
Experimental knowledge is the best sort in every 
branch, but it is necessary in divinity, because 
religion is what cannot be truly understood, un- 
kss it is felt. 

(2.) True piety will direct a man in the choice 
of his studies. The object of human knowledge 
is so extensive, that nobody can go through the 
whole ; but religion will direct the student to v/hat 
may be most profitable to him, and will also serve 
to turn into its proper channel all the knowledge 
lie may otherwise acquire. 

(3.) It will be a powerful motive to diligence in 
his studies. Nothing so forcible as that in which 
eternitj^ has a part. The duty to a good man is so 
pressing, and the object so important, that he will 
spare no pains to obtain success, 

(4.) True religion will give unspeakable force 
j to what a minister says. There is a piercing and 
a penetrating heat in that which flows from the 
1 heart, which distinguishes it both from the cold- 
( ness of indifference, and the false fire of enthusi- 
|| asm and vain-glory. We see that a man, truly pi- 



264 LECTURES ON 

t)us, has often esteem,^^ influence and success, 
though his parts may be much inferior to others, 
who are more capable, but less conscientious. If, 
then,, piety makes even the weakest venerable, 
what must it do, when added to the finest natural 
talents, and the best acquired endov/ments ? 

(5.) It adds to a minister's instruction, the 
weight of his example. It is a trite remark, that 
example teaches better than precept. It is often a 
more effectual reprimand to vice, and a more inci- 
ting ai^gument to the practice of virtue, than the 
best of reasoning. Example is more intelligible 
than precept— Precepts are often involved in ob- 
scurity, or warped by controversy ; but a holy life 
immediately reaches, and takes possession of the 
heart. 

If I have lengthened out this particular beyond 
the proportion of the rest, I hope you will forgive 
it for its importance, and observe, as the conclusion 
of the whole, that one devoted to the service of the 
gospel should be really^ visibly^ and emimently 
holy. 

2. Another character which should distinguish 
pulpit eloquence, is simplicity. Simplicity is 
beautiful every where ; it is of importance that, 
young persons should be formed to a taste for it, 
and more disposed to exceed here than in the op- 
posite extreme, but if I am not mistaken, it is 
more beautiful, and the transgressions of it more 
offensive, in the pulpit^ than any where else. If I 
heard a lawyer pleading in such a style and 
manner, as was more adapted to display his own 
talents than to carry his client's cause, it would 
considerably lessen him in my esteem \ but if I 



ELOQUEXCE. 265 

heard a minister acting the same part, I should 
not be satisfied with contempt, but hold him in 
detestation. 

There are several obvious reasons why simpli- 
city is more especially necessary to a minister 
than any other. (1) Many of his audience are poor 
ignorant creatures. If he m^ean to do them any 
service, he must keep to what they understand, 
and that requires more simplicity than persons 
without experience can easily imagine. It is re- 
markable, that at the first publication it was a cha- 
racter of the gospel that it was preached to the 
poor. In this our blessed Master was distinguish- 
ed both from the heathen philosophers and Jewish 
teachers, who confined their instructions in a great 
manner to their schools, and imparted what they 
esteemed their most important discourses to on- 
ly a few chosen disciples.. (2) Simplicity is ne- 
cessary to preserve the speaker's character for sin- 
cerity. You heard before hov/ necessary piety is, 
which is the proper parent of sincerity in the pul- 
pit. Now it is not easy to preserve the opinion of 
piety and sincerity in the pulpit, vrhen there is 
much ornament. Besides the danger of much af- 
fected pomp or foppery of style, a discourse very 
highly polished, even in the truest taste, is apt to 
suggest to the audience, that a man is preaching 
himself and not the cross of Christ. So nice a 
a matter is this in all public sj^eaking, that some 
critics say, that Demosthenes put on purpose 
some errors in gram^mar in his discourses, that the 
hearers might be induced to take them for the im- 
mediate effusions of the heart, without art, and with 



266 LECTURES ON 

little premeditation. I dovibt much the soHdity of i 
this remark, or the certainty of the fact; but how- i 
ever it be, there is no occasion for it in the case ] 
of a minister, because preparation and premedita- i 
tion are expected from him, and in that case he i 
may make his discourses abundantly plain and j 
simple without any affected blunders. (3) Simpli- i 
city is also necessary, as suited to the gospel it- 1 
self, the subject of a minister's discourses. No- \ 
thing" more humbling- to the pride of man, than the ^ 
doctrine of the cross ; nothing more unbecoming ^ 
that doctrine, than too much finery of language. :| 
The apostle Paul chose to preach " not with the i 
words which man's wisdom teacheth" — and again, j 
" not with excellency of speech or wisdom," which 1 
though I admit that it does not condemn study ! 
-and sound knowledge, yet it certainly shows that 
-the style of the pulpit should be the most simple 
aiid self- denied of any other. 

3. Another qualification for a minister, is ac- 
curacy, from the utmost diligence in his impor- 
tant work. I place this immediately after the other, 
to guard it against abuse by excess. To avoid 
vain affected ornaments is a very different thing 
from negligence in preparation. The very same a- 
postle, who speaks with so much contempt of hu- 
man wisdom, yet greatly insists, in writing to Ti- 
mothy and Titus, on their giving themselves to 
study, to exhortation, to doctrine, '^ Meditate up- 
on those things," says he, &c. 

Study and accuracy indeed are necessary, that a 
minister may procure and keep up the attention 
of his hearers. That he may inform the judgment^ 



ELOqUENCE. 267 

as well as convince the conscience. The ancient 
fathers have generally insisted upon this, as of 
much mqment. And in our own times 1 observe 
that it is necessaiy, to avoid offending persons of 
finer taste, who are two much attached to the out- 
side of things, and are immediately disgusted 
with every error against propriety, and are apt to 
reproach religion itself, for the weakness or absur- 
dity of those who speak in its behalf. Let no man 
seek to avoid that reproach which may be his lot, 
for preaching the truths of the everlasting gospel, 
but let him always avoid the just reproach of 
handling them in a mean, slovenly and indecent 
manner. 

4. Another quality of a minister's eloquence 
should be force and vehemence. I have, in some 
: former parts of die general subject, shown you 
; how and when this is to be most exeited. The 
design of the present remark is to let you know, 
= that there is no speaker who has a greater right to 
exert himself to the utmost, or who may proper- 
! ly interest his hearers more, than a minister of the 
' gospel. No speaker has subjects or arguments 
I more proper for producing this effect. To consi- 
der the subjects which a speaker from tlie pulpit 
has to handle, one would think that it must be the 
easiest thing imaginable to speak from them in a 
d powerful and interesting manner. The eternal God 
- — ^the greatness of his works — the uni\'ersality of 
his Providence — his awful juscice — his inesisti- 
': ble power — his umnite mercy — aiid die u isdom 
of God in the mystery of redeeining grace — ^the 
condition of saints and sinners vrhiie on eaith — 
and the final decision of their eternal state in the 



268 LECTURES ON 

day of judgment. The truth is, the subjects are 
so very great in themselves, that it is not possible 
to equ^J them by the manner of handling them. 
Probably for this very reason many fall short. 
Discouraged by the immensity of the theme, they 
fail below what they might have done on subjects 
less awful. This however shows, with what a 
holy ambition those who are employed in the ser- 
vice of Christ, in the gospel, should endeavour to 
exert themselves in the glorious cause. Provided 
they are themselves in earnest, and take truth 
and nature as their guide, they can scarcely ex- 
ceed in zeal and ardour for the glory of God, 
and the good of precious souls. 

5. Another excellent quality of pulpit elo- 
quence is, to be under the restraint of judgment 
and propriety. I place this after the former, as its 
counterpart, and necessary to give it proper effect. 
And it may be observed, that as religious and mo- 
ral subjects give the surest and the fullest scope 
to zeal and fervour, so they need as much as any, 
the strict government of prudence and experience. 
I do not mean only by this to guard ministers 
from the irregular fervours of enthusiasm, but to 
give, if possible, a degree of solidity and real 
truth to their instructions. They ought to avoid 
all turgid declamation, to keep to experience, and 
take things as they really are. Let some people, 
for example, speak of riches, and Avhat shall you 
hear from them ? Gold and silver, what are they 
but shining dross, sparkling metals, a thing of no 
real value ? That in the eye of reason and philo- 
sophy they are of no extensive use, and altogether 
contemptible. And indeed to take things in a cer- 



ELQqUEN-CE. 269 

tain philosophical abstraction, they are good for 
nothing. — Mere gold or silver you can neither 
eat nor wear — Their value, you wiii say, depends 
all upon opinion, the changeable fancy of men — 
But this manner of speaking, and all that is related 
to it, seeming to be philosophy and reason, is re- 
ally absurdity and nonsense. For though it be 
true, that gold, abstracted from the opinion of 
I mankind, is not a whit more valuable than stones, 
and that if I was in the midst of a forest surround- 
ed with wild beasts, a Vv hole bag full of gold 
w ould do me no service ; yet it is as certain, that 
in our present situation it is of that real value as 
to procure all the conveniences of life. The way 
then to treat such subjects is not to use these 
rhetorical phrases in contempt of riches ; but to 
show from experience that they are good or evil, 
according to the temper of him that uses them ; 
and that we see discontent and ungoverned pas- 
sion find as easy access to the antichamber of the 
prince as the cottage of the poor. The same thing 
I would say of fame, that it is easy to say fame is 
i no more but idle breath, &c. but the great mat- 
^ ter is, to view those things in a sober and rational 
' light, to give to every outward mercy its proper 
i value, and only show how much they are counter- 
' balanced by things of infinitely greater moment. 
But what I have often observed with most re- 
gret upon this subject is,' young persons carrying 
the things that are really true and excellent to a 
certain excess or high pitch, that is beyond nature, 
I and does not tend in the least to promote convic- 
tion, but rather hinders it. When men speak of 
virtue or true goodness, they are apt to raise the 

A a 



270 LECTURES ON 

description beyond the life in any real instance ; 
and when they speak of vice and its consequences, 
they are apt to draAv the character so, as it will 
apply only to a few of the most desperate profli- 
gates, and the miserable state to which they re- 
duce themselves. This rather seems to fortif)^ 
the generality of persons, to whom these descrip- 
tions do not apply, in their careless and secure 
state. 

Once more, I have often observed young per- 
sons frequently choose as their subject afflictions, 
of which probably they have had very little ex- 
perience, and speak in such a high style, as if eve- 
ry good man were, as the heroes of old, above 
the reach of every accident. And it is true, that 
an eminent saint is sometimes made superior to 
all his sufferings ; but, generally speaking, w^e 
ought to be very tender of sufferers, till we our- 
selves have been in the furnace of aflHiction ; 
and after that, we shall not need be told so. On 
the whole, a strict adherence to truth and nature, 
and taking the world just as it is, will be an ex- 
cellent mean to direct us in every part of our pub- 
lic service. 

6. Lastly, a minister ought to have extensive 
knowledge. Every thing whatever, that is the ob- 
ject of human knowledge, may be made subservi- 
ent to theology. And considering that a minister 
is in public life, and has to do with friends and 
enemies of all ranks, he ought to be well fur- 
nished with literature of every kind. At the 
same time I would have this well understood, 
it is not necessary, and I think it is not desira- 
ble^ that a minister should be quite an adept in 



ELOQUENCE* 2?1 

particular branches of knowledge, except those 
that are closely related to his proper work. The 
reason of this is^ it takes more time to be a 
perfect master of some of the particular scien- 
ces, than he has to spa.re from his duty, and 
therefore^ with a taste of the several sciences, 
general knowledge is most suited to his circum- 
stances, and most necessary to his usefulness. 



LECTURE XY. 

I PROCEED now to the eloquence of the bar. 
The profession of the law is of great importance 
in the British dominions. There is, therefore, 
great room for this sort of eloquence. This, in- 
deed, may be said to be the country of law, not 
only on account of its being a free state, the cha- 
racter of which is, that not man, but the laws, have 
dominion, which is our glory, but because by 
the great multiplicity of our statutes it becomes 
an important and difficult science. For both these 
reasons, there are great hopes proposed to persons 
of ability in this department. They have not on- 
ly the reasonable prospect, if of tolerable abilities, 
with diligence, to provide an honorable subsis- 
tence to themselves, but it is the direct road to 
promotion, and the way of obtaining the highest 
offices in the state. 

Here, as in the former particular, we must con- 
sider every thing as already said, that belongs to 
the subject in general ; and indeed by far the grea- 
test number of valuable books on the subject of 
eloquence having been drawn up by pleaders at 



272 LECTURES ON 

the bar, they must be at least as much, or perhaps 
more directly applicable to this species as any o- 
ther. I cannot help, however, taiing notice of a 
preposterous practice in this country^ of some who 
take their children from literature before they 
have finished their course, because they intend 
to put them to the law. This must be vohmtarily 
confining them to the very lowest sort of practice 
in that profession, for if any whatever stand in need 
of literature it must be the lawyers. Supposing 
therefore all tliat has been said of composition, 
and speaking in general, there are a few particu- 
lar characters of most im.portance in m*en of that 
class. 

1. Probity, or real untainted integrity. There 
can be no doubt that integrity is the first and most 
important character of a man, be his profession 
vvhat it will ; but I have mentioned it here, be- 
cause there are many not so sensible of the impor- 
tance of it in the profession of the law, and 
think it is necessary to make a good man, but 
not a good lawyer. On the contx^ary, 1 am per- 
suaded, not only thaf a man loses nothing in any 
capacity by his integrity, but that a lawyer 
should in general study, by probity and real w^orth, 
to obtain respect from the public, and to give 
weight to every thing he says. This integrity 
should show itself in undertaking causes. There 
are many that think there is no ground of scruple 
in this respect, and sometimes they are found to 
boast with what address they conducted, and wdth 
what success they carried through, a very weak 
cause. I apprehend this is tyuly dishonorable^ and 



ELOQUENCE. 2^o 

as there are plenty of causes in uhich the equity 
is doubtful, every one who should make it a point 
of honor not to undertake a cause, vvhich they 
knew not to be just, it would give unspea.kable 
influence to his management and pleadings. The 
same probity should appear in the manner of con- 
ducting causes. No sinister arts, no equivocation, 
or concealment of the truth. Perhaps some may 
think that those Vvho should be conscience-bound 
in this manner would give roguish persons an 
evident advantage over them ; but it is a great mis- 
take. Let them use but prudence and firmness, 
jpined Vvdth integrity, and they are an over-match 
for all the villains upon earth. The common pro- 
verb is certainly just, '* Honesty is the best poli- 
cy.'' The arts of chicanery can only succeed once 
or twice. As soon as a man gets the reputation 
of cunning, its effect is over, for nobody v/ill trust 
him, and every body counter- ^^'orks him. 

2. Another excellent quality for a iavvwer is. 
assiduity and method in business. This is of great 
advantage ta the very best genius. I the rather 
insist upon it, that there prevails often a supposi^ 
tion that it is not the quality of a great man. Be- 
cause there are somx persons of very middling 
abilities, w^ho give great application, and are lo- 
vers of order,, therefore some are pleased to call 
those dull plodding fellows, and think it is a mai^k 
of fire and vivacity to be irregular, both in their 
business and in their lives. There are also some 
fe^v men of real and great capacity, who are neg= 
ligent and even loose in their practice, who rise 
by the mere force of singular parts. These are an 
unhappy example to those superficial creatures, 

A a 2 



274i LECTURES ON 

who think, by imitating them in their folly, that 
they will become as great geniuses as they. But 
suffer me to observe to you, that the greatest ge- 
niuses here have been remai'kable for the most 
vigorous application, and the greatest men have 
been and are remarkable for order and method in 
every thing they do. There is a certain dignity 
which arises from a man's word being sacred, e- 
ven in keeping an appointment, or the most tri» 
fling circumstance ; and for people of business, 
order and punctuality gives so much ease to 
themselves, and pleasure to all who have to do 
with them, that it is a wonder there should be any 
body that does not study it. Is there any genius, 
think you, in throwing down a thing so unthink- 
ingly, that you do not know how to take it up a- 
gain? The great archbishop of Cambray looks 
upon it as one of the most important things, to 
teach young persons to put every thing in its pro- 
per place. As every thing that belongs to furni- 
ture, dress, books, and implements, must be in 
some place, they are always best disposed, when 
each is in its own place. They will give least dis- 
turbance there, when they are not used, and they 
will be most readily found, when they ought to 
be used. 

But when we come to loose and vicious prac- 
tices, it is truly entertaining to meet with riotous 
disorderly fellows, who are pleased to speak with 
contempt of those who love form and good order, 
as if they themselves were men of great acuteness. 
Now I almost never knew an example of your 
mischief- w^orkers, but they were thick skulls. I 
have known some, who could neither write a jest, 



ELOqUENCE. 2T5 

nor speak a jest, in all their life, but had tricks 
enough they could play, to disturb a sober neigh- 
bourhood. I have thus been led back to the irregu- 
larities of youth from speaking of method in busi- 
ness, as of importance to lawyers. I shall conclude 
the observation with saying, that there is no great 
prospect of a man's ever being lord chancellor, 
who spends ^his time in scouring the streets and 
beating the w^atch, when he is at the inns of court. 

3. Another quaUty useful to a lawyer is, address, 
and delicacy in his manners and deportment in 
general, and the conduct of his business in particu- 
lar, and above all in pleading and public speaking. 
The address and delicacy I mean, are such as are 
acquired by the knowledge of human nature, and 
some acquaintance with human life. Tliey are use- 
ful I admit, for every pubUc speaker, but if I am 
not mistaken, much more needful to the lawyer 
thant he clergyman. The clergyman proceeds up- 
on things of acknowledged moment ; a certain dig- 
nity of character is allowed him, and expected 
from him. A pretended delicacy is sometimes of- 
fensive in him. A certain firmness, not to call it 
boldness, and impartiality in administering in- 
struction and reproof, are ornaments in him. But 
a lawyer must always consider the propriety of 
time and place — What belongs to him that speaks, 
or to him or tliem that are spoken to, or that are 
spoken of. There are some fine examples of ad- 
dress and delicacy in Cicero, particularly in his 
oration pro Roscio, — ^pro Milone— et de lege 
agraria. 

4. A fourth quality necessary for a lawyer is, 
extensive knowledge in the arts and sciences, in 



276 LECTURES ON 

history, and in the laws. A person that means to 
rise, or attain to some of the highest degrees of 
this profession, must strive to accomplish himself 
by knowledge in the arts and sciences. His busi- 
ness is of a public kind, the causes he may 
have occasion to treat are exceedingly various^. 
What adversaries he may meet with he is alto- 
gether uncertain. I do not mean that a lawyer 
need to be an adept m particular branches of sci- 
ence^ but the principles of knowledge in general 
are very necessary, otherwise he will frequently 
expose himself. Gross ignorance in the sciences 
will lay him open to blunders in language, which he 
could not otherwise avoid. History also is a branch 
of literature that a lawyer should make his favourite 
study ; as his business lies in canvassing the various 
relations of men in social life, he will be best able to 
reason on the meaning and propriety of laws, 
and their application, if he be well acquainted 
with history, which points out the state of society 
and human affairs in every age. As to knowledge 
of the laws, this is what lawyers cannot do with- 
out,^ and what therefore they do necessarily study, 
but it would be much to their advantage, if they 
would add to the knowledge of the municipal 
laws of their own country, a knowledge of the 
great principles of equity, and of natural and po- 
litical law^ as applied in general. 

5. The last quality I shall mention as of use to 
a lawyer is, quickness and vivacity. It is of use 
to him to have an acuteness and penetration, to 
observe the turns of a cause, to detect the plots 
and fallacy of adversaries, as well as to answer 
upon the spot whatever may be thrown up* I am^. 



ELOQUENCE. 277 

sensible that this of quickness is entirely a natural 
quality, and cannot be learned; but I thought it 
best to observe it, because it is of more use to a 
lawyer than to most other men. A minister is 
only called to speak what he has deliberately pre- 
pai^ed, and fully digested, but a lawyer, quite inca- 
pable of extemporary productions, would not do 
so well. It is also certain, that wit, which is intole- 
rable in the pulpit, is often not barely pardonable 
in a lawyer, but very useful. There is, however, 
such a difference in the capacity of men, that one 
m.ay be eminent in one branch, and defective in 
another. A man of coolness, penetration and ap- 
plication, is often eminent in chamber councils, 
and one of vivacity, passion and elocution, emi- 
nent in pleading causes, especially in criminal 
courts. 

The third and last division of this class is, the 
eloquence of promiscuous deliberative assemblies. 
I shall not be very long upon this subject; but as 
it is far from being improbable that some here 
present may in future life have occasion to act in 
that sphere, and to be members of the provincial 
assemblies, I shall make a few remarks upon it 
to that purpose. In large deliberative assemblies of 
the political kind, there is neaiiy as much oppor- 
tunity for fervor and passion, as there is to the di- 
vine, and more scope for wit and humour, than to 
the lawyer. For though no matters of a merely 
temporal kind, are of equal moment in themselves, 
with the things a minister has to treat of, yet men's 
passions are almost as much, and in many cases 
more, excited and interested by them. The fate of 
nations, the welfare of our country, liberty or sqr- 



27B LECTURES ON 

vitude, may often seem to want as violent an ex- 
ertion of the passionate kind of eloquence, as any 
subject whatever. 

It is worth while to observe, that several writers, 
in speaking of the ancient and modern eloquence, 
ha^e taken it for granted, that the circumstances 
of things are changed; that the violent passionate 
eloquence, that prevailed in Greece and Rome, 
would not do in modern times. They will tell 
you, that in a modern senate, or other deliberative 
assembly, people come all prepared by private in- 
terest, and will vote just as they are engaged, with- 
out regard to either eloquence or truth ; but some 
very able writers^ have delivered a contrary opi- 
nion particularly David Hume, who, though an in- 
fidel in opinion, is of great reach and accuracy of 
judgment in matters of criticism. He has said 
that human nature is always the same, and that the 
eloquence which kindles and governs the passions 
will always have great influence in large assem- 
blies, let them be of what station or rank soever. I 
apprehend, that experience, since his writing the 
above, has fully justified it by two signal exam- 
ples : one in the state, and the other in the church. 
Mr. Pitt, now Earl of Chatham, from being a co- 
lonel of dragoons, rose to the highest station in 
the British Empire, merely by the power of a wai^m 
and passionate eloquence ; there was never any 
thing in his discourses, that are remarkable either 
for strength of reasoning, or purity and elegance of 
style; but a very great impetuosity and fire, that 
carried his point in the British house of commons. 
The other instance is the late Mr. Whitefield, who 
acquired and preserved a degree of popularity, to 



ELOCiUENCE. 2T9 

which the present age never saw any thing that 
could be compared ; the happy ends that were 
promoted by this in providence, I omit, as a sub- 
ject of a different nature ; but the immediate and 
second causes that produced it were, a power of 
elocution, and natural talents for public speaking, 
superior by far to any that ever I saw possessed 
by any man on earth. 

To succeed in speaking in public deliberative 
assemblies, the following are the most important 
qualities : (1) Dignity of character and disinter- 
estedness. In public deliberations, it is not easy 
to procure attention, unless there is some degree 
of character preserved; and indeed, wherever 
there is ahigh opinion of the candour and sincerity 
of the speaker, it will give an inconceivable weight 
to his sentiments in debate. 

(2) There is a necessity of knowledge of the 
most liberal kind, that is, the knowledge of men 
and manners, of historj^, and of human nature. 
The most successful speakers in senates are ge- 
nemlly those who know mankind best; and if a 
man would uniformly preserve his character and 
influence in this light, he must addict himself to 
the study of history, and the exercise of reflec- 
tion. 

(3) To this sort of eloquence is particularly ne- 
cessary, a power over the passions. This is one 
of the most important characters of eloquence in 
general ; yet it is more peculiarly necessary, and 
more eminently powerful in promiscuous delibe- 

j i-ative assemblies, than in any other. In religious 

discourses, the effect is expected to be cool, deep 

jl and permanent. Even preachers^ in single discour- 



280 LECTURES ON 

ses, rather choose to speak as writers, than as plea- 
ders ; and lawyers, except in some few instances, 
may expect to have their assertions taken to pie- 
ces, canvassed, and tried one after another ; but in 
meetings of the political kind, the decision is to 
be by a vote, before the dissolution of the assem- 
bly, and cannot be altered afterwards, though the 
majority should change their sentiments. In these 
assemblies, therefore, to be sure, a power over the 
passions must be of the utmost moment. 

I shall conclude this particular by two subordi- 
nate remarks on the same subject. (1) That to 
succeed in speaking in senates or large asemblies^ 
there is much need of great discernment, both to 
proportionate men's attempts to their capacity, and 
to choose the proper time for exerting it. When 
information is demanded, any person who can 
give it will be heard with patience upon it : but 
on subjects of high political importance, where 
there are many eminent champions on each side, 
even persons of moderate abilities would run a 
risk of being affronted. (2) The other direction 
is, that all who intend to be speakers in political , 
assemblies must begin early ; if they delay be- j 
ginning till years shall add maturity to their judg- | 
ment, and weight to their authority, the conse- ! 
quence will be, that years will add so much to | 
their caution and diffidence, that they will never ' 
begin at all. j 

We come now to consider the structure of a | 
particular discourse — ^the order, proportion, and j 
mutual relation of the several parts. Orators, or t 
critics on oratory, very early learned to analyse a 
discourse, and to enumerate the parts of which it 



ELOqUE-NCE. 281 

is composed. They are a little difFerently stated by 
different authors ; some reckon four, introduc- 
tion, proposition, confirmation, and conclusion ; 
others, five, adding narration ; others, six, adding 
refutation ; and there are some discourses in which 
you may easily have each of these different things ; 
but considering that we must take this matter so 
generally, as to include all kinds of composition, 
it would be, I think, as well to adopt the division 
in poetical criticism, and say that every regular 
discourse or composition of every kind must 
have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Every 
performance, hovrever short, must be capable of 
some such division, otherwise it is called abrupt 
and irregular. The reason why I would make the 
division in this manner is, that the beginning is 
properly the introduction ; the middle includes 
every thing, however various, that is taken into 
the body of a discourse ; now these may be very- 
many, proposition, narration, explication, confir- 
mation, illustration and refutation ; but these are 
not ail requisite in every discourse, and are to be 
introduced in propositions, variable and accidental, 
according to the nature of every particular sub- 
ject. 

Let us speak first of the introduction—This is 
the more necessary, that it is of very considerable 
importance, especially to an orator ; it is also dif- 
ficult, at least speakers have generally said so. 
We find it said in some of the books of oratory, 
that the introduction, though first pronounced, 
ought to be last composed — that it comes to be 
considered after the discourse is finished ; but this 
does not appear to me to be either natural or ne- 

Bb 



282 LECTURES ON 

-cessary, except in a qualified sense ; the intro- 
duction is commonly settled after the subject is 
pitched upon, the distribution planned and diges- 
ted, and such reflection upon the whole as pre- 
cedes writing, 

The ends in an introduction are said by Cicero 
to be these, Reddere auditorem attentum, bene- 
volum et docilem ; to make the reader attentive 
to the discourse, favourable to the speaker, and 
v/iliing to receive instruction upon the subject. 
These diflferent views may not only be altered in 
their order, at the judgment of the orator, but any 
of them may be left out, when it is unnecessary ; if, 
for example, I have no reason to suspect disaf- 
fection in any of my hearers, long apologies, espe- 
cially if any way personal, are rather disgusting. 

The ways of procuring either attention, a favour, 
or making the hearers teachable, are so various, 
th^tt they can neither be enumerated nor classed. 
In this, the orator must exercise his invention, 
judgment, and good taste. The most usual man- 
ner of introduction is a common-place upon the 
importance of the subject; the introductions 
drawn from the circumstances of time, place and 
person, are generally the most striking ; some- 
times an unusual stroke is happy in the introduc- 
tion, as also a weighty reflection or bold senti- 
ment on the subject itself. A funeral sermon was 
happily begun, by Mr. Baxter^ in this manner : 
^' Death is the occasion of our present m.eeting, 
'' and death shall be the subject of the foliowing 
" discourse; lamtospeakof that which shall short- 
'' ly silence me, and you ai^e to hear of that which 
^^ shall speedily stop your eai^s." Dr. Evans be- 



ELOQUENCE. ' 283 

gins a sermon on Eccles^.. xii. 10. '' Rejoice, O 
young man," &c. by telling a story of a soldier, 
whose life was saved by a bible in his pocket, and 
his conversion produced by the accident ; the 
bible saved him from being shot through with a. 
bullet, and when he examined, it had just pierced 
the leaves through, till it stopped at that passage, 
which no doubt he read with particular emotions. 
A discourse of a lawyer, irt alaw^-suit, is generally 
best begun by a narrative of the occasion of the 
quarrel, and the introducing of any common-place 
topics would be reckoned affectation. A clergy- 
man may often have an introduction to his sub- 
ject witK advantage; and may also often begin, by 
a concise view of the context, or the occasion of 
the words he has chosen to discourse upon. 

Perhaps what will be of most use here, v/ill be, 
to point out several ways by which an introduc- 
tion may be faulty ; of these I shall mention the 
follovvdng. 

1. An introduction may be faulty, by being too 
pompous and extravagant. This is one of the 
most tiommon faults in the prefaces or introduc- 
tions to books. When an author is to write upon 
^y subject, he thinks it necessary to show, nor 
only that his subject is worth the handling-, but 
that it is better than all other subjects. Weak and 
pedantic writers are often guilty t)f this to a degree 
that is ridiculous. A treatise on ai'ithmetic some- 
times is introduced by a pompous proof that the 
knowledge of numbers is either superior to, or 
the basis of, all other knowledge ; the same thing- 
is done with grammar ; and there is often a gene- 
ral truth or plausibiiity, fi^om which the ridicule to 



284 LECTURES ON 

which they expose themselves takes its rise ; for* 
to be sure, number is every where ; every thing 
that ever was, or can be, must be either one or 
more. As to grammar, all good sense must cer- 
tainly be grammar ; yet there ai^e som.etimes per- 
sons, who w^ould be thought to understand both 
these subjects very well, who could not speak five 
sentences, or write a letter, without being deser- 
vedly laughed at. 

2. An introduction may be faulty, by being 
general. We see often reflections in the introduc- 
tion to a discourse, that would be just as proper 
for one subject as for another. Such sentiments 
may be said to go before, but they cannot be said 
to introduce their subject. Sometimes you will 
hear the introduction almost out, before you can 
conjecture Vvhat is to be the subject ; and some 
are so unhappy in the choice of introductory sen- 
timents, that you would think they intend some- 
thing that is very different from what really appears 
in the piece itself. 

3. It is a fault in an introduction, to be filled 
with remarks quite beaten and hackneyed, if I 
may speak so. These may have been very good 
remarks or sentiments when first conceived and 
uttered ; but by perpetual repetition have lost 
their force, and from the very commonness ap- 
pear mean and despicable. They are many of them 
founded upon sayings in the classic authors, and 
in the past age were commionly produced as quo- 
tations, with their paraphrase, such as '' omne tu- 
iit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci.'' '^ Ingra- 
turn si dixeris, om.nia dixeris." 



SLOQUEXCE, 285 

4. An introduction may be forced, and unnatu- 
ral ; that is to say, such remarks may be made, 
as it requires a great deal of pains to show any 
relation between them and the subject to be 
treated. 

5. It may be fanciful, or whimsical. There was 
an age when these sort of introductions were to 
the taste ofthepublic» This fancy, or whim^ or, 
as I may call it, a finical way of enteringr upon a 
subject pubiickly, may be best illustrated by an 
example. An author of the last age begins a dis- 
course upon ch. \ iii. of the Epistle to the Romans, 
V. 28, to this purpose : The Scriptures may be 
considered as a large and rich gai^den.—The New 
Testament is the most valuable division of that 
garden— the Epistle to the Romans is the rich ^ 
est compartment of that division ; the 8th chap, 
is the most delio^htful border of that conipart-^ 
ment ; and the 28th verse th^ finest flower of that 
border. 

6. An introduction maybe faulty, by being te- 
dious. An introduction is desip^ned to whet tlie 
attention, and excite impatience for what is to fcjL 
low. But when it is very long, it not only disgusts 
by the disappointment, but wastes that attention, 
w^hich should be preserved in full vigour, or raises 
a high expectation, which is probably for that rea- 
son disappointed. 

As to the middle or body of a discourse, the 
chief thing to be attended to in this place is, to 
make you sensible of v/hat it consists. The for- 
mer discourses have ail been intended to teach you 
the way of composition, both as to materials and 
structure ; yet as to the method of conducting a 

B b 2 



286 LECTURES ON 

particular discourse, I would make the three foL 
lowing remarks : (1.) Be careful of the order of 
the several particulars mentioned. You may not 
see it proper to introduce all in the compass of a 
single discourse, but so far as they are introduced, 
they should be in the following order : Proposi- 
tion, narration, illustration, confirmation, refuta- 
tion. You will speedily perceive this to be the or- 
der of nature, to lay down the method, nan-ate the 
facts, illustrate them by whatever may have that 
effect, adduce the proofs, resolve objections. A 
person of a clear head will range his sentiments in 
this order~yet there are some exceptions to be 
admitted. Sometimes it is useful in a cause to re- 
serve a part of the story itself, to apply or illus- 
trate an argument — and in some few instances it is 
best to answ^er objections, or remove prejudices, 
before you adduce your proofs. 

(2.) It is a most useful direction to the great- 
est part of writers and speakers, to guard against 
introducing every thing that they might say, or 
being so formal, that they will say something in 
ihe way of form in every one of their divisions. 
This analysis of a discourse is good for making 
the judgment clear ; but if it be applied merely to 
make the invention copious, it will probably pro- 
duce an unnecessary load. Some people will needs 
answer objections On any subject, and frequently 
teach their hearers to make objections which they 
never would have thought of. 

(3.) Learn to keep close to a subject, and bring 
in nothing bvit what is truly of force, to the point 
to be proved. I the rather mention this as a rule 
for the middle or body of a discourse, because the 



ELOQJJEVCE* 28T 

most are there apt to transgress it. In the intro- 
duction and the conclusion, every one, but those 
who are perfectly stupid, keep their subject di- 
rectly in their eye ; whereas in the body, when 
they are entered upon argument and amplification, 
they are apt to be led astray, and either to fall in- 
to what may be called absolute digressions, or at 
least to lengthen some parts more than true pro- 
portion requires. 

As to the conclusion or peroration, to this may 
be applied particularly all that was said upon pa- 
thos, or raising the passions, to which I add the 
following short observations : 

(1.) The conclusion should be by far the warm- 
est and most animated part of the discourse. It 
is not, I think, desireable, to attempt to raise the 
passions of an audience high, till towai^ds the close 
of a discourse, because, if it be begun sooner, 
there is an evident hazard of not being able to pre- 
serve them in the same pitch till the end. 

(2.) The conclusion should collect into one ^ 
point of view, by some well chosen expressions, 
the force of what has gone before, and the greatest 
skill in the speaker is shown by concentrating the 
whole in this manner. Before the illustration, it 
could not be said so briefly ; but by the help of 
what went before, it may be recalled to memory 
in less room. 

(3.) Towards the conckision, the sentences 
should be studied, the tone of voice higher, and 
the pronunciation more rapid, than towards the 
beginning. 

(4.) Lastly, great care should be taken in mo- 
ral discourses to have no far-fetched inferences. 



288 LECTURES ON 



LECTURE XYI. 

I AM now to conclude the discourses upoir 
this subject, by an enquiry into the general prin- 
ciples of taste and criticism. In the former dis- 
courses we have kept close to the arts of writing 
and speakings and have attempted to describe the 
various kinds of composition, their characters, 
distinctions,, beauties, blemishes, the means of 
attaining skill in them, and the uses to which they 
should be applied. But is it not proper to consi- 
der the alliance, if there be any such, between this 
and other arts ? This will serve greatly to improve 
and perfect our judgment and taste. It was very 
early observed, that there Vras a relation between 
the different arts, and some common principles 
that determine their excellence. Cicero mentions 
this, in the introduction of his omtion for Archias 
the poet. Et enim omnes artes quae ad humanita- 
tem pertinent, habent quoddam commune vincu- 
lum, et quasi cognatione quadam inter se conti- 
nentur. 

These aits, which Cicero says,. Ad humanita= 
tem pertinent, are called by the moderns the fine 
arts. This is to distinguish them from those com- 
monly called the mechanic arts, making the uten- 
sils and conveniences of common life. And yet 
even these may be included, as taste and elegance, 
or the want of it, may plainly be discerned in every : 
production of human skill. However, those called 
the fine arts are the following: Poetry^, oratory,.: 



ELOQUEXCE. 289 

3nusic, painting, sculpture, architecture. It must 
be allowed, that, though these arts have some 
common principles of excellence, there are some 
persons who have a strong inclination after, and 
even a capacity of performing in some of them, 
and not in others. There are good orators who are 
no musicians, or, perhaps, who have very little 
taste for the beauties of architecture. Yet, com- 
monly, complete critics, and those w^ho have a wxU 
formed taste, are able to percei^-e the beauty of 
the whole, and the relation of one to another. It 
is remarkable that the expressions in composition 
are frequently borrowed from one art, and applied 
to another. Vv^e say a smooth, polished style, as 
vrell as a polished surface ; and we say a building 
is svv^eet or elegant, as well as an oration. We say 
the notes in music are bold and swelling, or w^arm 
and animated. 

One of our modern authors on eloquence has 
thought fit to take exception at the use of the 
word taste^ as being of late invention, and a.s im- 
plying nothing but what is carried in judgment and 
genius. But I apprehend that the application of 
. it, though it should be admitted to be modern, is 
perfectly just. It came to us from the French. 
.The bon gout among them was applied first ^o 
classic elegance, and from thence to all the other 
arts. And as a sense of the beauty of the a.rts is 
certainly a thing often distinct from judgment, as 
j well as from erudition, the term seems not only 
1 to be allowable, but well chosen. We find persons 
Mvho can reason very strongly upon many subjects, 
who yet are incapable of elegance in composition, 
and indeed of receiving much delight from the 



290 LECTURES ON 

Other fine arts. Nay, we find persons ofuncom- 
mon acuteness in mathematics and natural phi- 
losophy, who yet are incapable of attaining to a 
fine taste. 

It has been sometimes said, that taste is arbi- 
trary. — Some will have it, that there is no such 
thing as a standard of taste, or any method of im- 
proving it. It is a kind of common proverb with 
many, that there is no disputing about taste. 
That it is of this intellectual as of natural taste, 
according as the palate or organs are differently 
formicd ; what gives an agreeable relish to one, 
gives a disagreeable one to another. They say, 
that the modes of taste are temporary and variable 
— that different nations, climates, governments, 
and ages, have different ways of speaking and 
writing, and a different turn in all the arts — ^that 
chance or particular persons will be able to give 
a turn to the mode in a^ll these. Even so great a 
man as Dr. Warburton has embraced this senti- 
ment, and to those who attack the Scriptures as 
not being a complete model of eloquence, he an- 
swers, there is no fixed standard of eloquence. 
That eloquence is one thing in Arabia, another in 
Greece, and another in England ; for this reason 
he condemns those^ who, after the example of 
Mr, Blackwall in his sacred classics, vindicates 
the Scriptures from objections of this kind, or 
produce instances of their sublimity and beauty. 
But though I have shown you in some of the for- 
mer discourses, that the style and manner in 
vogue will receive some tincture, and be liable to 
some variation, from all the particulars mentioned, 
yet there is certainly a real beauty or deformity ia 



ELOQUENCE. 291 

nature, independent of these partial changes 
vvhich, when properly explained, and examples 
ot It exhibited, will obtain more universal appro- 
bation, and retain it longer than the others. The 
poetry and oratory of the ancients, and their paint- 
ing and statuary, are instances and proofs of this 
It may also appear, from what I mentioned to you 
tormerly, that those compositions which have 
most simplicity, and such excellencies as are most 
solid, with fewest of the casual ornaments of fa- 
shion, and the peculiarities of their own age, will 
please, when their contemporaries are lost iA ob- 
livion, rhe same thing holds with pieces of fur- 
mture that are elegant, but plain. Such have the 
beauties of nature, which belong to every age. 

nnon .'t w'^'"' '''°'" ^^^">^' ^''''' '^^ ^'^^narks 

o^?vlT'' "''r'" ^'°' '^"^' ^" «^^h a sense as 

to weaken what has been said. For thoup-h it is 

certain that persons used to the coarsest kind of 

show a first an aversion to the delicacies of cook- 

to^/hr/f" f P^''^" ^?' ""^^^ ^ ^^"^ accustomed 

regard is had to the mixtures that are most pro- 
pei to gratify the palate, he will not easily re urn 

les 'b. thif ^ ^ PT^'°"- ^"' ^*^°^S^^ there were 
taste i^.^h! fi '''^' '' '^"""^ P'^"^ '^^' there is a 
in nature ^''' ^'^ ^ '^'^ foundation for it 

fn^f '"PP"^'^"? t^^t there is a foundation in na> 
^ fr. -^ ^""^ criticism, there is another ques- 
tion that arises, viz. Can we tell what it is ? Can 

matter' ?^ """^"""^ principles which govern this 
matter ? Can we say, not only that such and such 



292 LECTURES ON 

things please us, but why they do so ? Can we 
go any further than we have already done, as to 
composition? Some have denied, that we can 
with certainty reach the source of this subject. 
When the cause is asked, w^hy one person, one 
thing, or one composition, is more excellent than 
another, they say it is an immediate and simple 
perception, a je ne s^ais quoi, as the French say, 
which phrase seems to have taken its rise from 
the circumstance which often occurs, that in a 
house, a garden, a statue, or painting, or even in 
a person's countenance and carriage, you perceive 
something agreeable upon the whole, and yet can- 
not suddenly tell wherein it lies, the parts are not 
better proportioned perhaps, nor the features bet- 
ter formed, than in another, and yet there is some- 
thing in the composition of the whole, that gives 
the most exquisite delight. 

Others, ho vv ever, and the far greatest number, 
have thought it proper to go a great deal farther, 
and to inquire into human nature, its perceptions 
and powers, and endeavour to trace out tlie prin- 
ciples of taste, which apply in general to all the 
fine arts, or, in greater or less proportion, to each 
of them ; for some apply more to one tha.n to 
others. As for example, if the sense of harmony 
is an orighial perception, it applies chiefly to mu^ 
sic, and remotely ;o the pronunciation of an orator, |i 
and still more remotely to the composition of an |l 
orator. These powers, or perceptions in human f i 
nature, have been generally called the powers of (1 
imagination. Mr. Hutchinson calls them reflex ,6 
senses, finer internal sensations; and uponexa- s 
mination we shall find, that, besides the inteniail la 



ELOQUENCE. 2Q3 

senses, there are certain, finer perceptions whi-h 
we are capable of, which may be said to take their 
rise from outward objects, and to suppose the ex 
ternal sensation, but yet to be additions to and 
truly distmct from it. As for example, I see a 
beautiful person. My eye immediately perceives 
colour, and shape, variously disposed ; but I have 
hirther a sense of beauty in the whole. I hear the 
sound of musical instruments; my ear receives 
the noise ; every body's ear, who is not deaf, does 
the same. If I have a sense of harmony, I take a 
pleasure in the composition of the sounds The 
way to examine the principles of taste is, to con- 
sider which of these perceptions are simple, im- 
mediate, and original; which of them are depen- 
dent upon others, and how they may be combined 
and compounded, and afford delight bv such 
composition. ^ •' 

fn ^?.!t -f ^"^.^tf si^V"^J^^^' ^"d ^t is difficult 

^ZtuV'"''''-"^^^ ^"^ ^'^^ P^^'^'^y' ^"d indeed, 
after all the pains I can take, there will be reason 

to apprehend some obscurity will remain to per- 
sons not used to such kind of disquisitions. The 
way I shall take is to state to you criticalh nr 
historically, the way in whichC mat er U 
be.n treated by some of the most celebSS tS 
.ers. Ihe Spectator, written by Mr. Addison on 
the pleasures of the imaginiion, reduces the 
, sources of delight or approbation 'to three gilat 
' ttf "'' "?^^^'^'.^""^""^^' ^"d beauty. He fays 
i Itl I T ^''''^ "f^^^ "°^'^%' that all thiiis 

I that were before unknown are, from this circum- 

adeShr-''T'"f'^'^"^' ^"d that we receive 
. ^ delight m the discovery and contemplation of 

i C c 



294 ' LECTURES ON 

what we never saw before, except such objects as 
are painfql to the organs of sight. That children 
run from one play thing to another, not because 
it is better, but new ; that it is the same case with 
men, and that authors, in particular, are at great 
pains to have something new and striking in their 
manner, which is the more difficult to be attained, 
that thej^ must make use of known words, and 
that their ideas too must be such as are easily in- 
telligible. There is something here that would 
require a good deal of explication. I do not think 
that any object is, properly speaking, painful to 
the organs of sight, except too much light ; but 
we do not consider this as a fault in the object, 
but feel it as a weakness in ourselves. And fur- 
ther, if there be such a thing as beauty, one would 
think^ that if beauty be agreeable, it must have a 
contrary, which is ugliness, and that must be dis- 
agreeable. As to greatness, this has been always 
considered as a source of admiration. The most 
ancient critics observe^ that we do not admire a 
small rivulet, but the Danube, the Nile, the oceam 
This I will afterwards consider. As to beauty, it 
has been considered as of all other things most 
inconceivable, and therefore made a first and im- 
mediate perGeption. 

Others have taken beauty and grace as the ge- 
neral terms, including every Aing that pleases us. 
Thus we say a beautiful poem., statue, landscsape. 
Thus alsowesayasublime and beautiful sentiment. 
Thus they have taken in under it novelty and great- 
ness, and every other agreeable quality. Many 
eminent critics have acted in this manner, parti- 
xularly the anciejiits. Longinus,^ on the Sublime, 



ELOqUENCE. 295 

introduces several things which do not belong to 
it, as distinguished from beauty. Taking beauty 
as the general object of approbation or source of 
delight, and as applicable to all the fine arts, it 
has been variously analysed. 

A French writer, Crousaz, Traite du Eeau, 
analyses beauty under the following principles : 
Variety, unity, regularity, order, proportion. Va- 
riety is the first. This seems to be related to, or 
perhaps in some respects the same with novelty;, 
which was formerly mentioned. It is certain that 
a dead uniformity cannot produce beauty in any 
sort of performance, poem, oration, statue, pic- 
ture, building. Unity is, as it were^ the bound 
and restraint of variety. Thins:s must be con« 
nected as v/ell as various, and if they are not con- 
nected, the variety is nothing but confusion. Re- 
gularity is the similarity of the correspondent 
parts ; order is the easy gradation from one to a- 
nother, and proportion is the suitableness of each 
part to the whole, and to every other part. I think 
it cannot be denied, that all these have their influ- 
ence in producing beauty. 

One of the most celebrated pieces upon this 
subject is the famous painter Hogarth's Analysis 
of Beauty. He first produced his system in a sort 
of enigma, drawing one curved line, with the title 
of the line of beauty, and another with a double 
wave, which he called the line of grace. He after- 
wards published his Analysis of Beauty, which he 
resolves into the followmg principles *. Fitness, va- 
riety, uniformity, simplicity, intricacy, and quan- 
tity. The first principle is fitness, under which he 



296 LECTURES ON 

shows that vv^ always conceive of a thing as inten- 
ded for some use, anddierefore there must be a cor- 
respondence or suitableness to the use, otherwise, 
whiritever be its appearance, we reject it as not 
beautiful. He instances in sailors, who, whenever 
there is a ship that sails well, they call her a beauty. 
The same thing will apply perfectly to all kinds of 
writing : for whatever fine sentiments and noble ex- 
pression be in any composition, if they are not suit- 
ed to the season and subject, we say with Horace, 
Sed nunc non erat his locus. Variety and unifor- 
mity must be compounded together, and as he has 
made no mention of order and proportion, it is to 
be supposed that by variety he meant that which 
changes in a gradual and insensible manner ; for 
variety without order is undistinguishable, and a 
heap of confusion. Simplicity means that which 
is easy, and which the eye travels over and ex- 
amines without difficulty ; and intricacy is that 
which requires some exercise and attention to 
follow it ; these two must limit one another. In 
representing beauty as a visible figure, he ob- 
serves, that a straight line has the least beauty ; 
that which has a wave or easy declination one 
way begins to be beautiful ; that which has a 
double wave has still greater grace. The truth 
is, if these two things do not destroy the one the 
other, simplicity and intricacy improve and 
l^^eautify one another. Mr. Hogarth observes, that 
rineiets of hair wavino^ in the wind have been an 
expression of grace and elegance m every age, 
nation and language ; which is just a contrasted 
V, a\ e, firsts that of the curls, and this again ren- 



ELOQJJ£^'CE. ^y/ 

dered a little more intricate by the iiiotion of the 
breeze. If one would have a viev/ of this princi- 
ple, as exhibited in a single kind, let him look at the 
flourishes with which the masters of the pen adorn 
their pieces, and he will see, that if they are easy 
and gradual in their flexions, and just as intri- 
cate as the eye can follow without coafusion, any 
thing less than that is less beautiful, and any thing 
more destroys the beauty by disorder. I might 
show you how this principle applies to all the 
arts, but shall onh^ mention composition, where 
the simplicity must be combined with refinement, 
arid when the. combination is just, there results 
the most perfect elegance. Mr. Hogarth adds 
quantity ; that a thing having the other qualities 
pleases in proportion as it is great ; as we say, a 
magnificent building, where the^ proportions ai^e 
truly observed, but every part is large. 

I have only to observe, that Mr. Hogarth has 
very well illustrated the principles of beauty, but 
at the same time he seems to have introduced two, 
which belong, to the other sources of delight, viz. 
fitness and quantity, as Vvdll be shown afterwai'ds. 

It is to be observed, that in the enumeration of 
the principles of beauty, there are to be found in 
some authors things not only ciifterent, but oppo- 
site. A French author, not many years ago, to 
the principles mentioned by others, adds strength, 
which he illustrates in tl:is manner. He considers 
it as a principle^ of grace and beauty in motion, 
and says that every thing that we do with great 
difficulty, and that seems to require our utmost 
effort, is seen with uneasiness, and not with plea- 
sure. For this reason he says the motions of . 

c c 2 - 



( 



298 LECTURES ON 

young people in general are more graceful than 
those of old, and agreeably to this we join the 
word ease to gracefulness, as explicatory — a 
graceful easy carriage. With this explication it 
seems abundantly proper to admit the remark. On 
the other hand, there are some who have made com- 
parative weakness a principle of beauty, and say 
that the more light and slender any thing is, un- 
less it be remarkably weak, it is the more beautiful, 
and that things remarkabl}^^ strong rather belong 
to another class. Thus we say, a fine, tender^ 
delicate shape, — and on the contrary we say, a 
strong, coarse, robust make — a strong, coarse, 
masculine woman. Perhaps we may reconcile 
these two, and say they are both principles, be- 
cause there should be just as much of ease as is 
suitable to the thing in question, that a person 
may have either too strong or too weak a frame, 
for being esteemed beautiful — that a pillar or 
dome mav be too delicate to be durable, or too 
strong and bulky to be elegant. 

Again : many writers, as j^ou have seen, make 
greatness a principle of beauty ; yet there are o- 
thers, who make littleness one of the constituents 
of beauty. Those who do so, tell us that little is 
a term of endearment, in every nation and lan- 
guage yet known; that it is the language of the 
vulgar, and therefore the unfeigned expression of 
nature. They instance the diminutive appellations 
which are always used in fondling — -filiolus, filiola, 
have more affection, than filius, and filia — my dear 
little creature— it is a pretty little thing. To enu- 
merate these different appearances, some, particu- 
larly Burke on the Sublime, affirms that the ideas 
of sublimity and beauty are ideas of a class radi- 



ELOQUENCE. 299 

cally different; that the first, sublimity, uhimate- 
ly arises from the passion of terror, and the other 
from that of love and delight; he with a good deal 
of ingenuity resolves all the sources of the sublime 
into what is either terrible, or allied to this passion, 
exciting it either immediately in some degree, or 
by association. It is however uncertain, whether 
we should reduce what we receive so much de- 
light from to a passion, which, in itself, or in its 
purity, so to speak, is painful : this objectioji he 
endeavours to remove, by shewing that the exer- 
cise of all our passions, in a moderate degree, is a 
source of pleasure ; but perhaps we may distin- 
guish the ideas of sublime and beautiful, without 
having recourse to the passion of terror at all, by 
saying that there is an affection suited to the great- 
ness of objects, without considering them as ter- 
rible, and that is, veneration: nay, perhaps we 
may go a little further, and say, that veneration is 
the affection truly correspondent to greatness, in in- 
nocent creatures, which becomes terror in the guil- 
ty, I cannot go through the particulars of Burke's 
theory. He seems rightly to divide the ideas 
of sublime and beautiful ; by the union of which, 
some have made one thing, others directly its con- 
trary, to belong to beauty. One thing remarkable in 
Burke's Essay is, that he denies proportion to be 
any of the causes of beauty, which yet almost eve- 
ry other writer has enumerated among them ; 
and what he says of the infinitely various propor- 
tion in plants and animals seems to be much in 
support of his opinion : yet in works of art, pro- 
portion seems of much moment, and it is difficult 
to say to what source to reier it. I view a buiid- 



oOO LECTURES OK 

ing, and if the parts ai^e not in a regular propor- 
tion, it offends my eye, even though I could sup- 
pose that the disproportion was vokmtarj^ in or- 
der to obtain some great convenience. 

I should be inclined to think, that there are a 
considerable number of simple principles or in- 
ternal sensations, that contribute each its part in 
forming our taste, and are capable of being vari- 
ously combined, and by this combination are apt 
to be confounded one with another. One of the 
most distinct and complete enumerations we have 
in Gerard's Essay on Taste, and is as follows: A 
sense of novelty, sublimity, beauty, imitation, har« 
mony, ridicule and virtue. I cannot go through 
all these in order, but shall make a fe^v^ remarks, 
and show where the division is just or defective. 
His distinguishing all these from one another is 
certainly just; but there are some things that he 
introduces under wrong heads ; fitness, for exam= 
pie, he introduces under the head of beauty ; and 
this seems rather a source of approbation distinct 
in itself, as also proportion, if that is not included 
in fitness. Perhaps a more complete enumeration 
than any of them may be given thus, novelty, su- 
blimity, beauty, proportion, imitation, harmony, 
ridicule, utility, and virtue. 

We sliall now proceed to those we have not spc= 
ken of before ; imitation certainly gives great plea- 
sure to the mJnd, and that of itself^ even indepen- 
dent of the object imitated. An exceedingly well 
imitated resemblance of any object, of that which 
is indifferent or even disagreeable in itself, gives 
the highest pleasure, either from the act of com- 
parison, as some say, or from its suggesting the 



EIrOqjJENCE. 30i 

idea of skill and ingenuity in the imitator. The 
arts of painting and statuary derive their excel- 
lence from the perfection of imitation, and it is 
even thought that poetry and oratory may be con- 
sidered in the same light, only that the first imi- 
tates form, and passions by the means of form, 
and the other imitateo actions and affections by 
language, as the instrument. 

Harmony is the most distinct and separate of 
all the internal senses that have been mentioned ; 
it is concerned only in sound, and therefore must 
be but remotely applicable to the writer and spea- 
ker. What is remarkable, that although harmony 
may be said to be of much importance in speak- 
ing, there are many examples of the most excel- 
lent speakers, that yet have no musical ear at all ; 
and I think the instances of those who have a re- 
markably delicate musical ear, and at the same 
time are agreeable speakers, are not many. 

The sense of ridicule is not very easily explain- 
ed, but it is easily understood when spoken of, 
because it is universally felt. It differs in this 
from most other of our constitutional powers, 
that there is scaixely any man, w^ho is not sensi- 
ble of the ridiculous, or may be made easily sen- 
sible of it ; and yet the number of good perform- 
ers in the art of ridiculing others, or in wit and 
humour, is but very small. The multitude, who 
cannot follow speculative reasoning, and are hard 
to be moved by eloquence, are all struck with 
works of humour. Most people are apt to think 
they can do something in the way of humour ; 
and yet we have many who render themselves ri- 
diculous by the attempt. 



302 , LECTURES ON 

As to a sense of virtue, my mentioning it is by 
no means from my joining with those who would 
place moral approbation entirely on the same foot- 
ing with the internal senses, that are the founda- 
tion of taste. Hutchinson and Shaftsbury incline 
very much this way ; on the contrary, I think we 
are evidently sensible that the morality of actions 
is a thing of a different species, and arises from 
the sense of a law, and obligation of a superior na- 
ture : yet I have mentioned it here, because there 
is certainly a rekition or connecting tie between 
the sentiments of the one kind and of the other. 
The beauties of nature, we aic sensible, aix gi'cat- 
ly heightened, by adding to their delightful ap- 
peai'ance a reflection on their utility, and the be- 
nevolent intention of their author. In persons ca- 
pable of morality, as in human nature, we consi- 
der fine features and an elegant carriage as indi- 
cations of the moral disposition or the mental pow- 
ers ; and as the whole of the sources of delight 
mentioned above may be combined in a greater 
or lesser degree, as novelty, sublimity, beauty, &c. 
so the governing principle, which ought to direct 
the application of the w4iole, is what gives them 
their highest excellence, and indeed only is their 
true perfection. The gratification even of our 
internal senses is highly improved, when united 
with taste and elegance. As the most delicious 
food, when served up with neatness and order, ac- 
companied with politeness of manners, and season- 
ed with sprightly conversation ; in the same man- 
ner, the fine arts themselves acquire a double 
beauty and higher relish, when they are insepara- 
bly connected with and made subservient to pu- 



ELOQUENCE. 303 

rity of manners. An admirable poem, or an elo- 
quent discourse, or a fine picture, would be still 
more excellent, if the subject of them were inte- 
resting and valuable, and when any of them are 
perverted to impious or wicked purposes, they are 
just objects of detestation. 

After having thus attempted the analysis of the 
principles of taste and elegance, I would observe, 
that as nature seems to delight in producing ma- 
ny great and different effects from simple causes, 
perhaps we may find an ultimate principle that go- 
verns all these. A French author has written a 
tro^tise called the Theory of agreeable sensations, 
in which he says that the great principle is, what- 
ever exercises our faculties, without fatiguing 
them, gives pleasure ; and that this principle may 
be applied to our bodily form, and to the consti- 
tution of our mind, to objects of external sensa- 
tion, to objects of taste, and even to our moral con- 
duct. It may no doubt be carried through the 
w^hole of criticism, and we may say this states the 
bounds between variety and uniformity, simplici- 
ty and intricacy, order, proportion and harmony. 

Neither would it be difficult to show that this 
principle may be applied to morality, and that an 
infinitely wise and gracious God had so ordered 
matters, that the moderate exercise of all our pow- 
ers, should produce at once virtue and happiness, 
and that the least transgression of the one must 
prove of necessity an injury to the other. 

You may see, from the preceding remarks, that 
the foundation is laid for taste in our natures ; 
yet is there great room for improvement and cul- 
tivation; by investigating the grounds of appro- 



504 LEGTtTRES^, CsT'C 

bation ; by comparing one thing with another ; 
by studying the best examples ; and by reflection 
and judgment ; men may correct and refine their 
taste upon the whole, or upon particular confined 
subjects. 

Carrying taste to a finical nicety in any one 
branch is a thing not only undesirable, but con- 
temptible; the reason of which may be easily 
seen : when a person applies his attention so much 
to a matter of no great moment, it occasions a ne- 
cessary neglect of other things of much greater 
value. After you pass a certain point, attachment 
to a particular pursuit is useless, and then it pK). 
ceeds to be hurtful^ and at last contemptible. 



THE END. 



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